I'm not making much noise. Really low. Low enough that every rock that hits the
undercarriage seems like it hits my own. My size 13 Puma-clad feet are wildly attempting to
find a method to press the densely packed pedals with my legs spread out at an unusual angle.
A whistle over my left shoulder alerts me to how much air the mid-mounted V6 engine takes in and ignites in order to move me forward as I speed
Despite requiring near-herculean effort to turn in a parking lot, the supercar's massive steering wheel and unpowered rack are impressive when traveling at high speeds.
The chassis is amazing; it seems like a nerve system extension that sends input to my hands, feet, and butt.