A song of Smoke and Cylinders

To drift an automobile is a tribute to one’s understanding of control, balance, power and poise. To tandem drift is to be in an entirely different league. To be at one with one’s car, yet to further have the capacity to anticipate- to foresee- to visualize the motion of a secondary, 1.5 tonne machine at the hands of a like-minded individual is a sheer act of lunacy- a death wish. A car crash threatening- nay expecting to happen. The act of the drift becomes secondary. It’s almost involuntary. Focus lies entirely on the car ahead, the lead. An entire focus shift.

The goal is simple. Follow the lead car as closely as conceivably possible. Bumper to bumper. Mirror to mirror, close enough to see the whites of his eyes. Every move, mirrored. Every twitch, monitored. The most infinitesimal lapse of concentration and it’s over. A mistake, and the worthy becomes the nobody. A drive of shame, a dented fender and a humbled soul. A poor consolation, worthy only of delegation to the pit lane.

A perfect tandem is like a ballet. It’s graceful, it’s elegant. It looks effortless. Both cars become one. Cylinders firing in unison. Mindsets synchronized.

A change in one equals a change in the whole. Wheels left? Wheels left.

Dab of brakes? Dab of brakes.

Symmetrical in every execution. Poetry in motion.

Asphalt Asphyxiation.