At long last I had made it back to garage way. Lucrezia had spotted an Italian duke in a Maserati as we were exiting the main gate of the ring, then immediately and forcefully ejected me from the cockpit and made haste to catch him. Bewildered, I had too ask myself what kind of dark magic was at work in these damnable automobiles, then decided it was better that I not know.
Hitch-hiking in that region of the world is no easy feat, but finally I was home. Luckily, the extended travel afforded me the opportunity to attain what I hoped would be an upper hand in the impending battle with that detestable miscreant that dares call itself a bird. On said journey I found myself spending a night on the side of some French highway. A nibble on my toes roused me and to my amazement I found a feral Tom Cat trying to make a meal of me. Fortunately I caught the brave bastard in my helmet, and shoved the whole package into said helmets bag. The various port authority agents were amenable to transporting a live animal across borders in such a manner, but one look into the hissing, spitting, razor sharp claw filled bag helped them all decide to just let me pass and be someone elses problem. My greatest hope now was the he had an appetite for parrot.
So there I was making my way down garage way, back to the despicable ally where this madness began. From the doorway of Harvey Wallbangers Café & Outlaw Motor Sports Garage a voice cut the silence.
Sure take your sweet time on the job, dont ya? said squeaky, pubescent voice.
How dare you mock my work ethic you reprehensible youth! Go do some homework or something. I have bigger birds too fry
blue ones! I shouted back, not bothering too look at whom I was addressing. I was busy surveying the roof tops and any other perch. That beast of thing was here somewhere, and I had a surprise for him this time. The youth began speaking in a tongue foreign too my ear, but the distinct hatred in his voice made it clear that he was spurting out profanity, at an astonishing rate I might add, as he turned and reentered the café.
Making my way down the ally, which turned out to be next too the café, my gate was slowed with preparedness. I knew the blue devil was laying in wait somewhere, but he had obviously chosen his hiding place carefully. An hour I waited, but the coward never showed. It seems he reserves the assault and battery routine for the cover of night. Disappointed, I set my helmet bag on the ground and pondered how I might extract the incredibly hostile feline with the least amount of physical harm. Cautiously I reached out and clasped the zipper. Instantly the bag began to shake and yawl viciously. This was going to hurt no matter how I opened the bag. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the final Spider of my assignment, this one bathed in the traditional and undisputedly superior Rosso Alfa.
Seeing the car gave me an ingenious idea and I withdrew my phone. Three minutes later my chief buffoon was standing at the entrance too the ally where I had placed the bag. The expedience of his arrival had to be some kind of world record. I had already seated my self in the confines of the Spider and from there shout at him HA! Fast when you want to be you miserable nincompoop!. I had informed him that his and the rest of the crews back pay would be in my helmet bag. He grabbed and opened the bag with a voraciousness that would insight projectile vomiting in a decent man. With a blood curdling squall the miniature panther latched itself too the buffoons facemask and the hard plastic shavings began too fly. The plan had worked to perfection. I gunned the Alfa out of the ally and began my voyage back too Germany. My first stop there was too the racing equipment purveyor, as the cat had soiled my helmet beyond use. All errands dispensed with, it was time to hit the track.
At Nurbergring GP/D 4th place was a forgone conclusion, as the exact same field from the previous two outings was present once more. The drive here had revealed no ill intent on the Spiders part, but I would not be letting my guard down for a millisecond this time around. Powering down the opening straight I found more power than Lucrezia but slightly less than Black Widow, perhaps mileage was too blame. On the first turn I discovered this lady to be more responsive than Lucy and again a hair less so than the Widow. Hmm.. I thought, maybe this one has no ambitions on my life after all. The tail end sliding out on the exit of the corner quickly brought me back to reality. Further on in the lap I had come too the conclusion that the brakes were the weakest or least most ineffectual of the three sisters. On the second lap I found myself pondering this girls name, or rather her lack of one. In comparing her too the others I noticed she seemed to have most but not quite all the oomph of the Widow. With regards to handling she occupied the middle ground as well, not nearly as stiff as Lucy and yet not nearly as every guy in town loose and the Widow. A pattern was immerging here. Finally it dawned on me. A 1:47.983 hot lap, the expected 4th place finish, and Little Sister and I were off too London.
London, Let the GTI hunting commence. I entered the race not sure if would win or die in the process. Knowing her proclivity for slideways action I was inclined to like my chances. Yet, also knowing here hatred for deceleration, I was equally inclined to draft up a final will and testament leaving the buffoons not a single red cent. The race was on, and going exactly as I expected. To say traction was a rare commodity would such an understatement as to be laughable. First gear was more a smoke machine than forward gear. Braking happened early, often, and with immense physical exertion on my part. Too my relief Little Sister did not regard the other competitors as implements of my destruction and I managed to end the race both unscathed(cant say the same for the car) and the victor, with a hot lap of 1:01.949. Now for the real game to begin.
Nordschleife
On the hallowed ring I cam expecting a battle for the survival of all humanity but found only a battle for my own. Her engine and suspension ate the turns and straights, always demanding more. The brakes gave up the ghost about half way through but I told myself I could manage. I had to, there is no turning back on the ring, no giving up on the ring, only success or failure. On the first go there was much failure, so very, very much. Those damnable brakes, even the thought of hard use caused the fronts too lock and sent the rear wheel too the head of the class. This state of affairs always ended in myself getting some full on tonsil hockey action with a wall. Unfortunately, this author has kissed much, much worse. Once I learned my lesson of early and easy braking, I found the gearing somewhat wanting. As was the case with Lucy, the intended top speed for acceleration trade off had not been totally successful, though not nearly as bad. Top speed, 143, only clean lap, 8:30.000. All in all, the closest to perfection of the three, but as all youngest siblings are, just a little bit short.
Go give it a spin, and then you should see why it was 0.5 seconds faster. And better to drive.
good stuff here.👍👍
), but my daughter said she think she drove Onboys car and it handled well, a little under powered, but the I had to remind her it is set for a 420pp run, and then she said it was very good 
not quite sure why.
. If you were to take some of the grunt from 1st and 2nd, and give it too 4th and 5th it would be very nearly perfect. Now go do something about those brakes.
Damn you all and your forcing me to be creative!
