Three hundred and ten kilometers per hour is a physical assault.
Even with the greatest endurance ever known to an F1 driver, Luca could testify for that.
White light. Screaming carbon. Screaming fans. The car was going so fast, it felt like it was about to explode. The wind hammering the chassis, the engine so loud, it hurt the ears.
Luca sat low behind the wheel, tearing through Mexico. Starting at pole was a double-edged sword. On one side, he had the advantage of clean air, the first choice of line, and the command of the opening moments. On the other side, he bore the weight of the greatest pressure in the pack.
Everyone behind technically hunted one man.
Him.
WHAM!
That was the sound of a gear changing, and it felt like getting kicked in the back. Following that was a loud WHREEEE like a room filled with a hundred faulty radios. Luca's focus could barely stay on one thing, nor could his head stay straight from the wind.
