It was an ordinary Sunday. I woke up, had my coffee, and, as usual, went for a drive with the Road Runner . Nothing special—just a relaxed day enjoying the wheel. Then my friend Neto sent a message: “There’s a drag race at the track, want to come?” And off I went, thinking it would just be a casual hangout, watching and laughing with friends who had their tuned-up cars on the strip. But of course, these “friends” wouldn’t miss a chance to throw me into the fire. They started egging me on: “Put the Road Runner on the track too! It’ll be fun!” I looked at my car. Stock, heavy, and totally unprepared for this kind of thing. Any sensible person would’ve said “no” and continued munching popcorn in the stands. But me? I said “yes,” because common sense has never been my strong suit. And so I found myself challenged in the 201-meter race by an Amarok with all the mods and all-wheel drive. The result? Naturally, I got smoked so badly it still echoes in my ears. At the start, the ...