LAST SUNDAY AT THRUXTON

In search of Aiden Moffat

This man eclipses the Greek Gods
and doesn't even have to try.

His voice over the car radio (aah, that accent!)
transmitted to the hyped-up spectators.

His foot to floor, speed increasing,
Mercedes engine screaming in pain.

From where I'm standing, a blue blur -
increasingly surreal, it seems.

Projecting consciousness into those wheels:
a mental passenger, undetectable.

Wow, the exhilaration -
and not from mere speed alone!

His heartbeat merging with my own,
synchronizing with another plane.

Adrenaline pumping, pumping;
stimulating depths wholly unknown.

Now race is finished, all too soon.
But, pumped up, I'm hypnotically driven:

dodging mad crowds and scouring the pits
for Scottish flag - it's blue and white

symbolic of  Laser Tools Racing.
Fighting, fighting, I get to the front -

and here's the proof I'm telling the truth:

And was he there? Oh yes, but I
never got to meet him. Why?

I froze and stood there, overawed
like dumbstruck teen - how sad am I? Lol


PS/
     I did, however, manage to take this photo! ;))