And while we’re at it, powers that be, could I also request the exact same weather and traffic as 7am–11am on 6 October 2023? It’s a week later now, and every night I’ve dreamed about the T.50 on that road. I’ve never had that before. Reliving memories is one thing, but to have your off-duty brain replay scenes with such vivid clarity you remember them the next morning is quite another. My subconscious clearly doesn’t want to let those moments go either.
I don’t know whether to feel relief or profound excitement that Gordon Murray and his team have created arguably the finest driving device that’s ever been conceived. No less was expected after all. And yet, despite everything I’d already learned about it, this wasn’t the car I expected it to be. It wasn’t better or worse, it was just different.
This wasn’t a ‘one road’ thing, by the way. The T.50 was mine for four whole days and close to 900 miles.
The length of the Pyrenees, from Barcelona to Bilbao. I knew it had potential, but hadn’t expected it to throw up the Driving Nirvana Combo. My original plan had been a lightweight roadtrip, until I realised two things: that an all areas reduction would see me ending up like James May in that racing Aston; and that if Gordon had been utterly ruthless about mass, we wouldn’t
