Thread: Too Fast for Love

Gasoline Alley - Rod Stewart WhimsicalsCadence and CharmSnake It could have been anywhere but Spain would do just fine, and even though it was only the winter tests in early January, it was racing season. The sound of spanners on metal and chatting voices mingled about the garage. Going home, running home down to Gasoline Alley where I started from. Going home, and I'm running home down to Gasoline Alley where I was born. The first daylight leaked through between the grandstands and across the Jarama Circuit tarmac. The lads in the garage had been up all night putting the John Player Special Lotus 72 together with its new upgrades to the suspension and bodywork. The team had championships to defend and had been hard at work for months. When the weather's better and the rails unfreeze and the wind don't whistle 'round my knees, I'll put on my wedding suit and catch the evening train I'll be home before the milk's upon the door. He stepped out of the paddock trailer onto firm ground and inhaled the crisp morning air as he dropped his gloves into his helmet. His race suit, pressed and clean and an unusual distinct color, dark powder blue, hung open exposing a white t-shirt. Mornin' Paul, a voice called to him from down the paddock. Team Lotus weren't the only outfit shaking down their machinery that day. Shep was there for Team McLaren, standing tall in his thick curls and sideburns three stalls down. Beyond him at the far end of the paddock the mechanics at BRM were unloading a truck into the back of their garage. Bonjour, Paul replied to Shep with a warm grin. It was good to be alive. In the garage the car awaited him. Glossy black with gold trim, she was the looker of the F1 paddock. Everyone had fallen in love with her the moment that she had first hit the scene two years previously. At the end of the month in Argentina he would show up to the dance with her on his arm. Today they would get acquainted and go through some of the steps. Going home, running home down to Gasoline Alley where I started from. Going home, and I'm running home down to Gasoline Alley where I was born. Paul set his helmet and gloves down on the sidepod of the car and zipped up his suit. His fingers caressed the edge of the radiator opening and then leaned down and gave her a kiss. His helmet was also unique, dark blue and tessellated with bold white stars. He slipped it down over his balaclava and tightened the strap. After climbing into the cockpit and getting buckled in, the lads rolled him out. The Cosworth engine roared to life, shattering the morning still. In the distance a flock of birds took flight, spooked into panic. Kirk waved him out. Paul flicked down his visor, put her in gear and rolled away. They had the track to themselves, just her and Paul, dance partners feeling out each other's steps. Twelve rolling corners strewn across the dry Spanish landscape showed that everything was working, the throttle, the brakes, the steering, the gears. It all felt solid. They came around the final sweeping bend winding out the revs in top gear. Now it was time to see what they could do. Flying past the start line in a blur, they turned sharply to the right and disappeared around Turn 1 on their first hot lap together. 1973 was going to be a great year. Take me back, carry me back down to Gasoline Alley where I started from. Take me back, carry me back down to Gasoline Alley where I started from. Take me back, carry me back down to Gasoline Alley where I started from - whooo ... TOO FAST FOR LOVE