panic subsides

From Alice at the Beach

Today I was kicked out of a large gravel parking lot. I was playing with my STI, practicing racing starts, doing donuts, and trying to burn up the clutch, tires, and brakes. Pushing the limits of the car was very educational. I intentionally spun out, finally developing a mental model of the effects of turning the wheel in the direction of the skid. I produced mighty clouds of dust, leaving wide dual arcs in the gravel, and attracting the odd glance from distant passers-by. After 20 minutes, a Mountain View park services worker drove toward me in his pickup truck. I rolled down my dust-caked window and greeted him. He politely informed me that the lot wasn't big enough for this sort of activity, and that I had to stop. (In my defense, the lot was enormous.) When I suggested that I was merely learning how to drive, he gave me the most incredulous look. I quickly corrected myself, stating that I was trying to learn "sport driving." Nonplussed, he informed me that the lot was private property. I asked if he knew any better places to practice. Sadly, he didn't. I thanked him, careful to call him "sir," then drove home.

Afterward, it occurred to me that I was not in the least bit nervous, panicked or scared. Not when my car was careening wildly out of control, and not when the figure of authority approached the scene of my transgression.

I think the medication is working.