At Ludicrous Speed

At Ludicrous SpeedThe flesh remembers. Long after the mind has put the fear away, some small, visceral trigger--like cinching a seat belt across your lap--can bring it all back: the murderous roaring, the smell of burning rubber, the nasty taste of the fireproof hood where it's bunched up into your mouth under your helmet, the sweat in your eyes and, most vivid of all, the awful worry just under your harness buckle that in a few seconds, when all galloping hell cuts loose, you are going to forge...