It’s two nights before Christmas, and I’m having a think,
about racing and cars, which happens when I drink.
With Schumi returning for formula gold,
I wonder if such chances have passed cuz I’m old.
Not old per se, just too old to start,
on a path that infants begin racing karts.
I’ve thought this before, as blog posts will tell,
I even emailed, like a schoolboy, Le Mans great, Derek Bell.
“Hey Derek,” I said (we met ‘cuz of Bentley),
“what can I do to see time in Gran prix?”
When he replied, he said the time may have passed,
when engineers would make a mold of my ass,
and fit each contour into my F1 seat,
from where I would see just who I could beat.
Saddened, I moved on and continued writing here,
drunk, bitter, and watching Top Gear.
Around 3 AM, I finally crashed in my bed,
hot laps and pit stops still in my head.
I suddenly found myself in a bright red beast,
with paddle shifters and wings, and a wide open street.
A circuit like one’s never seen before,
made from all different tracks, even Singapore.
Part Monaco, part Monza, with sprinkles of Spa,
the Glen, De La Sarthe and La Guna Seca.
(and before those last two garner comments from the uptight,
I know they’re not F1, but it was my dream, alright?).
Off my car launched with such force, sound seemed to shatter,
downforce pressing my car to be flatter.
I hit S-curves and chicanes, rumble strips and more,
running through bends and straights I adore,
Through Copse!
Down Corkscrew!
Eau Rouge and Piscine!
’round Campsa, Coca-Cola, and all of Hockenhiemring!
Such joy as I felt so much fear and such grace,
I could’ve kept on forever and never dropped pace.
At some point, however, the ride had to end,
and I woke up in bed, I’d cross the last bend.
No miracle had happened, nothing unusual arose,
Didn’t wake up with a pussycat doll or ripped-off fuel hose,
I just sat with my head that throbbed like a drum,
trying to make sense of my dream ( I blame the rum).
It was then it occurred that hey, it’s Christmas eve!
and I should be celebrating, no time to grieve,
for lost times and missed chances I made myself believe.
I’m still young, a quick learner and I’m pretty fit,
(besides, when someone told me “no”, did I ever give a shit?).
and maybe when I go down tonight under the tree,
I might find something else there with my Forza 3.
some tickets to fly and enroll at Skip Barber,
to be taught to live the hopes that I harbor.
Maybe that’ll happen, and then again, maybe not,
but one day I’ll go out and give it all I’ve got.
I’ll learn to race proper and go as fast as I can,
and if I screw up? There’s always Grand-Am!
Thanks for another year of reading my pieces,
have a merry Christmas from AutoKinesis!
-Alex K-
