'ring Tossed

The Zed 8 beckons from the parking lot. I have been reluctant to drive it even on the rural highways around the N�rburgring, which attract almost as many racing bikers as the raceway. Everywhere on those roads are signs that say RACEN 1ST OUT! (Racing Is Out!) above a silhouette of a biker sliding off his cycle into oblivion. "You know it's a good road," says Leong, without a trace of false machismo, "when you see those signs."

Leong and Fry have the Right Stuff for the N�rburgring. Michael Schumacher, who was winning the Canadian Grand Prix in Montreal on this Sunday afternoon, has the Right Stuff. Eighteen-year-old girls in Opel Swing hatchbacks have the Right Stuff. James Bond has the Right Stuff, and I have his car. But the question remains: Do I have the Right Stuff?

I came to the N�rburgring to test my driving skills—which is to say nerve—on the most difficult roadway in the world, the San Diego Freeway on acid. Of course, I really came to learn deeper truths about my courage under extreme duress. From afar, it seemed as if it would be good for a laugh. But this is what I've learned: I will not drive 125 mph on an automotive minefield in a borrowed car costing more than I'm worth, solely for the momentary diversion of a magazine editor back in New York City. Now I know. Reisen bildet. Travel educates.

I call that courage. You call me a wuss. Fine. But you'll have to say the same to Tiny, and trust me, you don't want to do that.