"Let off the brakes!" says the instructor at certain points on the track sitting calmly in the passenger seat on my very first lap of the racetrack. The huge parking lot P10 North of the Gillette stadium had been set-up on this Saturday morning, the 16th of June 2012 into a twisting loop of 3 straights, 2 long and 1 short; a S section and 3 more turns. "Yeah right!" I think to myself "570 HP engine on a 1500 kg car with my foot on the accelerator all the way down till a second ago and you want me to stop braking? Thank you, sir but I rather like being alive." End of Lap 1.
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Lap 2 begins with a short straight and he shouts "Go! Go! Go!" I put the pedal to the metal and the God awesome roar of a 5.2 litre V-10 engine fills my universe. My head snaps back due to the sheer acceleration. I am in the driving seat of a Lamborghini Gallardo LP 570-4 Spyder Performante and it is already apparent to me why this car costs $2,50,000. For all its faults, only capitalism necessitates the building of such an excess of power or madness as some would call it and the world is a better place because of it (or so say car nuts like me). Slightly easier on the brakes this time and the car squeals just a little on the turn but holds its line, a bull on the charge.
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By the end of Lap 3, this monster under my tutelage seems to not have that much of a mind of its own. The wall of terror and worship that divided us when I first took charge of it is a lot less higher now. We pull off the track for a quick oil check as this Italian beauty in black has been put through the paces quite a few times since the day began and a little medical check-up is on the cards. All OK. "The next 3 laps will be even more fun" says my guru as he hops into the passenger seat again "I like how you use the brakes and make the turns nice and easy." A confidence boosting compliment is welcome, no matter how frequently he may have used them with his other students too.
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Out onto the track again and gunning the engine through the straight, a slight tap on the brakes and a twist of the steering to the right. A swoop and the car is pointing right. No mishaps. Time to step on it again. Here comes the third straight, the last on this lap. 570 horses and their past generations lurch into motion and time slows down. Here comes the S curve. Should I or should I not? The speedo reads a high number, too high. I ought to slow down. This is impossible. Ever so slightly feel for the brake, tap it but then miraculously stay off it. A quick flick to the left, then to the right and then to the left again. Clean as a whistle, smooth as they come and on to the end of Lap 4.
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"How did that feel?" asks my co-passenger with a smile. There's too much to say. This is what they try to describe on all those Top Gear reviews I grew up watching. The car flows, through the curves, through the turns, at a velocity and with control almost supernatural. She is capable of far more than what my limited personal abilities will be able to put her through. The details of the next and final two laps are vague and dream like. Fast as they are, every second is a golden experience in going with the flow, following an invisible trail of driving ecstasy. The instructor's voice is not registering any more or maybe he isn't even saying anything anymore. He knows that words lose their meaning from here on in. Like in all matters of trust, the beauty lies in what remains unspoken.
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