Driving Home From F1 

They shouldn't let people drive home after watching F1. You should have to leave your keys at the front entrance and pick them up the next day, because everyone leaving that theatre is liable to get a speeding ticket, or worse. The driving sequences in Joseph Kosinski's latest feature are so exciting, so well shot, that it's impossible not to feel the need... for speed.

F1 was everything I wanted from a summer movie. The plot was decent enough, but it wasn't trying to reinvent the wheel. Racing purists will probably scoff at it, and they have every right to because the tactics, if you can even call them that, are totally absurd. For a generational talent, Sonny Hayes (Brad Pitt) crashes his car so much. Still, it took the movie mere minutes to capture my imagination.

When it was over, it was hard for me to move on. I didn't want to leave that world of petrol-induced insanity. Looking down my row in the theatre, I could tell I wasn't the only one. I saw a guy who was still staring at the screen. In his one hand was an empty plate of nachos and in his other was his car keys. I could tell his mind was in the same place as mine. We were both transforming into our own versions of Sonny Hayes.

What would Sonny do? Before getting behind the wheel, he would always go for a jog. If I was going to "fly," that being the flow state that Sonny enters when he's driving a perfect race, then I needed to mimic Sonny's habits. Unlike his young teammate in the movie, Joshua Pearce (Damson Idris), I had no intention of creating my own legacy. I only wanted to live like Sonny.

I stood from my theatre chair, brushed a plethora of popcorn kernels off my shirt, and started to jog. I hustled down the stairs, through the theatre, and out into the warm summer night. I jogged through the parking lot to my car.

Slow is smooth and smooth is fast.

There she was. My Jeep. If any car wasn't made for speed, it was this one. Shaped like a box, aerodynamics were not considered during its manufacturing. However, as Sonny made clear in F1, not all racing cars need to focus on speed. Sometimes it's better if a car is made for combat. This is what my Jeep was made for.

I circled my steel horse, acting like I understood the meaning behind its every ridge and curve. I pressed my thumb on the tire's rubber. They felt hard, but if I rubbed my hand on their side, they were soft. They said all terrain. A lot of terrains are hard, but sometimes they're soft. Despite not knowing their classification, I trusted them. They'd gotten me this far, but they had never been driven the way they were about to.

I drove out of the parking lot doing that S motion that F1 drivers do at the start of races. They say it's to warm up the tires, but I don't know how this motion does anything that driving straight doesn't do. Swerving nearly made me hit other theatregoers. Not my concern. I need my tires warm. I pulled out of the parking lot and slowly cruised to the first set of lights.

This is my start line. I'm at the front of a long line of cars. I look in my rearview and see the faces of the drivers behind me. I can tell by their laser focus that they, too, just finished watching F1. When this light turns, all bets are off.

On green, I stay stationary. The cars behind me are honking incessantly. Still, I wait. If Sonny had taught me anything, it was that I needed to get into the heads of the other drivers if I wanted to win. I could feel their anger swelling. They'd be driving mad. Right where I want them. The light turns red and I smash the gas, taking off like a bat out of hell.

This gave me immediate separation from the pack. A couple white lights flash as I drive through the intersection. I'm sure it's nothing. I take a bank turn and merge onto the highway. Time to fly.

I'm in the highway's fast lane, giving the Jeep all she can take. I check the rearview again and see the familiar sight of LED high beams from a new-model car. Its approaching fast. I'm not here to be passive. I'm in F1 mode. The fast lane isn't big enough for both of us.

By now, the high beams are illuminating my chassis. Night has turned to day inside the Jeep. The Beamer quickly veers into the slow lane, looking to pass on the right, but I won't allow it. I veer with him, maintaining my lead. He goes even further right, into the bus lane, an illegal move but all is fair on the road. I veer with him, maintaining my position. We continue this lane duel for some minutes, until he decides to back off. I know a fake out when I see one. Just when he lets off, he changes lanes again and charges faster than ever. He nearly takes me, but I switch into his lane a little too late and clip the front of his bumper. The Beamer spins out of control, causing a three-car pileup. I keep my foot on the gas. No looking back.

I make it to the bridge, but traffic is backed up. My need for speed is going unquenched! I can see the flashing lights of construction up ahead. I continue to swerve from lane to lane, looking for an opening that isn't there.

Finally, I pass the flashing pace car. A couple union workers are sweeping debris off the road. The moment I pass this hiccup, I'm back on the gas. See you never, losers.

I take my exit at full speed; I feel the Jeep sway under the aerodynamic pressure. She'll handle it. I end up on a one-lane road, stuck behind another pace car (it's a Corolla with a Learner's magnet on the back). This is unacceptable. I'm losing precious minutes. I swerve into oncoming traffic, but can't make the pass before a semi truck forces me back into my lane. I lay on the horn, trying to get this guy out of my way so I can win the race. I go out into the bike lane and pass that way.

Nearing the end of my race, I decide it's time to take my mandatory pit stop. I pull into the Shell. My goal is to be in and out in four seconds, quicker than in the movie. I turn the car off, explode out of the door, sprint to the other side of the Jeep, fumble into my wallet, pull out the credit card, preapprove for $100 cause gas is expensive, say "no" to a car wash, smash that 87, take the pump, undo the gas cap, insert the pump, and start fuelling. I check my watch. Already past four seconds. I'm a failure. The cardboard cutouts of Leclerc and Hamilton beside the pump are laughing at me. I go into the convenience store and buy Twizzlers. Sugar will help me focus. I race back over to my car, put the pump back, and get into the driver's seat. My six-minute pit stop will surely hurt my chances at the podium.

I'm nearing the finish line, now. The final straightaway into a sharp left turn. I'm surely in the lead. I'm definitely outrunning the demons in my mind. I see the turn, just ahead. What's this? Another racer approaching me on the side? It's a two-lane street, but after the turn it turns into one. Only one of us can take the lead and it's not not going to be me. The RPMs on the Jeep are sky high. The engine is screaming. I am wheel to wheel with this other car. The light turns from green to yellow. Neither of us are slowing down. The turn is here. I pull my wheel left. Too hard. I caught an edge. The Jeep is airborne. I'm flying, upside down, through the night sky, thinking, this is what Sonny would have wanted.

The Jeep makes impact with an under-construction building. The car frame crumples. Something catches and the gas combusts. I'm engulfed in flames, waiting for the pit crew to come save me. I try to get out on my own, but the seatbelt is jammed. I hear sirens in the distance. Is this how it ends?