November 13, 2008
When the tail of my Firebird snapped lelt on the Bonneville Salt Flats at about 220 mph, my brain did not start recording in the sickening super-slo-rncl that usually switches on during crashes. Instead, only four vivid images, like snapshots, would be scorched into my mind.
The first: a streaky horizonjust over the hood, obscured by a blizzard of salt. Next: a disturbingly clear view of the gray sky overhead lilling the windshield. My brain registered that this was not a positive development. Continued...