You exit turn 16 with your foot flat to the floor. That's when you see the birds on the track. Of course they'll get out of the way, you think, they're birds, they fly, you say. Then you hit 140 MPH. Then you smack a bird. Hard.
BAM. BAM. BAM. The woman in front of me clacks a pack of cigs against the gas station minimart counter before paying. I put down a few bucks for my first coffee of the trip and walk out into the night. It's 4am and our Audi RS7 sits idling in the cold Virginia air. We have five hours of driving ahead of us and…
Four amazing race tracks. Twenty one hours. Too much fried food. One great car. One possible birdslaughter. Zero sleep.
Delaware welcomes us with snow and the first signs of snow. The RS7 seems gravitationally pulled towards New York.
We're eating up the miles on the way to VIR from night-driving Road Atlanta. The RS7 feels very happy.
Road Atlanta just opened their doors to us for the evening. What an experience.
Sir. Sir. You have an issue. Please look into it.
UPDATE: We're two hours from Road Atlanta. We bought a bunch of pecans. We still have seen no Moslers.
"Just remember that I can only go home when you're done." That was what the Sebring organizer told us as we waited in an RS7 to roll out on the pit straight. That's all. Just don't do too many laps. Otherwise, one of the greatest circuits in the world was completely open for us and us alone.
Road Atlanta, here we come.
Here's the C7.R going through tech. We're on track shortly.
We went down to get coffee at the hotel this morning and who is there but multi-Le Mans winner, former F1 driver, and current Scotsman Allan McNish.
And we only hit one bird.
See that license plate? It reads 'STRIP.' We did not race him.