"Ah crap, we missed the turn."

"How the hell would you know, you've never been down to the track before?"

"That was Geoff's car waiting to turn, and what else do you think he would be doing down here today."

"Sh*t, gotta find a place to turn around then..."

You know, for such a large chunk of concrete and land, that racetrack was quite well hidden. But if you ever need to find it, just hang a left at the lights by the Payless, and you can't miss it.

This is the story of how my brother and I spent one day last year doing something that would probably be seen as a rather ill-considered choice of pastime for starving students such as ourselves. My friend, I speak once again of racing.

Ah yes, the allure of hurtling across a smooth sheet of tar and rock held us in it's grip. Fumes of long-dead dinosaurs wafted skyward, belched from the fiery innards of a mechanical beast that is ready to sprint and break free of the earthly chains called friction and gravity. But firstly, prior to any displays of testosterone-fueled enthusiasm, we had to sign some waivers.

A tender white slip of paper is the most powerful armour available to a private citizen. The powdered toner, carefully laid down atop the unerringly precise path of a laser beam onto it's slick surface held the power to move fortunes and decide fates. And it was upon its lower quarters that I made my mark, and was now firmly aware of the fact that if I got killed, it was all my fault.

A sturdy and loyal steed is a highly-prized companion. A strong frame and powerful muscles bind together strength and agility, providing the master with endless options. On the other hand, a bitter and tired nag should not be paraded and run alongside the thoroughbreds; instead, it should be aware of it's place, lowly and unseen. Silently, the technician made his rounds, poking and prodding, scanning the metal hide, and quickly, and with a nod and swift flourish, he produced a sticker, letting everyone know we passed tech inspection.

Anticipation filled me, but it was the helmet that focused me. The slick white shell of its protective embrace cut me off from the murmur of the outside world. Through the padding, only the wail of that trapped banshee could be heard, screaming around the metal tubes that pumped beneath the bonnet. My vision too, was cramped, so that I might only perceive the lay of the land in front of me. A flock of delicate insects began to rise beneath my chest, and I began to wonder if having sweaty palms would make the wheel hard to hold onto.

A purring sensation moved up my spine, happily dancing throughout the vehicle, causing each piece to jive to its own rhythm. As the purring moved up to a roar, the entire car shuddered as one, vibrating and resonating in unison to a violent opera. The score was moving in pulsed sequences now, as the master stared at the flag, held aloft, foot stroking the itch of anticipation, urging the mount to leap to action instantly. Seconds slowly descended like toffee from the confectioner's instruments, pooling into time passed. As the pool began to run over, the flag was lowered, and I floored it.

Rubber shod hooves gripped and tore at the tarmac underneath, in tune to the flesh gripping the plastic hoop above. A scream from the road reminded those atop its black surface to tread with care, for it does not show any mercy to those in pursuit of its pleasures. Swiftly the metal steed conquered the serpentine curves of its black bride, passing each gate of orange pylons. Inside, the driver reminded himself to keep breathing, focus himself onto the car, and feel what it is saying to him. Tenaciously, it clung to the surface, and overcame the difficulties of a torrid relationship. But the affair was to be a brief one, climaxing at 72.41 seconds, and quickly fading into obscurity as another driver lept off the line.

Three more times, each quicker than the last, would the two partners dance again. Their movements gaining the confidence that can only be found through time and practice. The track was tired now, as night crept onwards, casting a deep shadow of longing into the hearts of the drivers. Soon again, they would meet to test themselves atop their concrete playground, pushing themselves and their metal beasts to limits unknown. Tired and weary, we follow our chosen path home, content in the knowledge that the next slalom is only three weeks away.