Words by: DUNCAN QUINN
I’m sure there is too much of a good thing. There’s certainly too much of something you think is a good thing but which others older and wiser tell you is a bad thing.
Like tequila shots for instance. Or that crazy ex.
Unfortunately as with most things of this nature it is tough to gain perspective without practice. Which is probably why I continue to go too fast and continue to think its a good thing.
After all, if God had intended us to go slow he wouldn’t have invented super cars. Or speed.
We seem to have entered a renaissance in the time of super, hyper and ultra cars.
Despite a focus on fuel economy, electric power for around town trundling, and
the race to escape fossil fuel, nothing has come this close to echoing the need for
speed last seen in the early 1970s just before everything went tits up, OPEC style.
Martini is back in Formula 1, Gulf is reverting to its old skool logo, stripes abound and brown is the new black for Porsches.
If Steve McQueen wandered in from the desert I probably wouldn’t even be that surprised. And he’d feel more at home than he would have done for years.
I even had a tango orange Aston Martin Vanquish to play with. And spotted another powder blue version
But this time around I was attacking the twisties of the Angeles Crest Highway 4000 feet up in a silver grey Volante rag top. The hair dresser of the stable. And yet still just as much fun as its more refined looking hardtop brother.
S button on. Suspension in track mode. Exhausts blaring. Wind blowing.
And of course, Led Zepp on the stereo.
It is the 1970’s again, after all.
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