Some people have beer muscles. After downing a couple of mugs of Cape May IPA, they’re ready to take on the winner of the Floyd Mayweather Jr.-Conor McGregor fiasco, er, fight.
My biceps are fueled by tequila, which explains how I wound up wedged into a Subaru race car that was careening around a sand-and-asphalt track at more 100 miles an hour at Bader Field a few days ago.
As part of the buildup to the weekend’s Red Bull Global RallyCross event in Atlantic City, organizers arranged for media members to participate in a ride-along with some of the top drivers Friday.
My invitation arrived via email during a stop in the first annual Beachfront Margarita Tour, somewhere between downing a “frozen concoction that helps me hang on” and throwing back a chilled shot of Patron.
I quickly accepted in an effort to prove my toughness. After all, I have a tattoo on my shoulder. Granted, it’s a picture of a dolphin jumping through waves, but it’s still ink.
Upon arriving at the track and getting a glimpse of the sandy hill that the car would jump over, I immediately began to question my sanity.
My driver, Subaru’s Patrik Sandell, did little to calm my trepidation.
“Nice to meet you,” he said with a smile. “Don’t trust me.”
Subaru’s representatives gave me the first-class treatment. While the dozen or so other ride-along participants picked fire suits from a bin, mine was hand-delivered in a special case.
After zipping up the suit and donning the helmet and neck brace, I put on a pair of Maui Jim sunglasses, hoping that I resembled Tom Cruise in “Days of Thunder.”
In reality, I looked like an overweight version of Racer X, Speed Racer’s long-lost brother.
Watching the first set of Supersport cars in action, my nervousness inched toward panic.
Considering I have trouble with the spinning tea cups at Storybook…