October 2001, Vegas, hyped. We entered the thunderdome on a hot Nevada day. Greeted by the smell of steaming tarmac and gasoline, and our ears assaulted by the dopplered roar of screaming Nascars (turn up the volume and play the quicktime!). We stood, awestruck and excited, 30 laps of pedal to the metal racing lay ahead of us...

Armouring up in fireproof overalls, helmet and obligatory sunglasses we hit the track, laptime. M&M 36, stood ready to burn on the speedway, clambouring in through the window buckled in, and connected the steering wheel. Its a cage, steel with a veneer of fibreglass sitting on a high octane V8 engine. Ignition, accelerate, and brutal ear splitting noise burst from the car, this is power, pure adrenaline pumping, heart stopping power.

1.5 miles of track, banked on each corner and we chased our pace cars, getting closer and closer until they freak and wave us away. Pedal to the floor on the straights and gripping against reason on the corners we drove tight and fast. With faces pressed against the glass with the g forces on the turns we drove faster and faster, pushing the envelope.

30 laps, 250 kilometres an hour, and the checkered flag. Exhausted we file out ears ringing. After being harassed by my driving buddy Steve "I drive a sports car" Williams we check times, I cain his ass by a blistering 0.01 seconds on the fastest lap.

Pumped. Do it.