Every Spring, a handful of half-crazed grease jockeys gather at the moon we call
Bonneville, to push the limits of man and machine at face-melting speeds. I recently ran into a friend who races here, and now I'm finding myself lost amidst the speed and style that is both serene and psychotic. I mean, who really needs zero gravity when you can push 150mph in your swim trunks and loafers? I call dibs on the goggles and Le Blanc's jumpsuits.
