Thick mud grabs at the tires, throws the car first left, then right. Curved, earthen walls hurl the engine’s roar echoing back at me. I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, wrestle to keep toward the center of the tunnel.
Wheels spew sheets of mud. The car is a vintage auto, sleek and low, with fat wheels and open cockpit. It resembles a torpedo in every way – shape, sound, speed. Headstrong, it fights me at each touch, each turn. It shrieks and shudders, but conveys me ever forward at breakneck speed.
Once, twice, the car strikes something along the earth – something smooth and hard and evenly spaced. Polished tracks sunken into the tunnel’s floor. After several attempts, I align tires to tracks. Now, the car and I now work as a unit. A smooth ride ensured, I stamp on the accelerator, hard. The car gathers speed and roars forward unimpeded. When we reach the tunnel’s end, we shoot out from its mouth, suspended, for a moment, within the clear, star-spangled sky. The surrounding landscape is lush and green with gently rolling hills. Light as a feather, the car meets the unpaved road, and we race away into the night.