Yesterday, I got my car up to 205 km/hr. That's approximately 130mph.
Why? Because I felt like it. Because I could. And other cars were driving as fast. So I thought, what the hell. I don't think the mini can go much higher than that, unless I found a steep downhill. Then perhaps 140mph. But why? Am I suicidal? Maybe.
After a day of driving on German roads, with German drivers at the wheel, who honk if you haven't jammed the gas pedal the moment before the light turns green (yes, before) I might be a little lackadaisical about life.
Here in Germany, first the light turns yellow, then green, so as to minimise seconds wasted waiting to push the gas pedal. Germans are not afraid to use their horn to honk at you immediately, if you are so daft as to hesitate moving forward. And may God strike you down if you kill the engine while trying to slam on the gas. Then you'll certainly suffer hearing damage from the horn at your car's ass.
Granted, the roads are generally in pristine condition. Otherwise how else would one drive over 200km/hr? I'm bitching, but it's not entirely fair to Germany. I generally hate driving and would go to most lengths to avoid it. Here, in the country, I can't not have a car. So I do. And I drive. But I'd rather not. After a day in the car, my arms are sore from clutching the wheel. (No, this is not exaggeration.) And my mind is spinning from sensory overload. A person who's mildly afflicted with ADHD does not belong driving a car for great lengths of time. I've thought so far as to get married just to find someone who might drive me around. But I've yet to reach that level of despair. You never know.