I have loving, nurturing and supportive friends. When I told them I would get to test-drive a $1.55 million Bugatti Veyron, the world’s fastest and most expensive car, they were naturally excited for me. “When you crash it,” one said, “are they going to garnish your wages for the next 12 lifetimes?”
“They don’t know what you look like, right?” another said. “So I could knock you out and do it myself?”
Even the editor who assigned me the story emailed me a video of someone wrecking a Ferrari and said, “Don’t pull one of these.”
So it was with trepidation that I arrived at the dealership in Chesterfield; this is one of those rare assignments about which almost everybody I’ve ever met or ever will meet will be jealous, and all I could think was “Please God, don’t let me crash it.” Once in the car, I put on my seat belt, but no restraint device would matter if I put the whip to this 1,001-horsepower beast, which can reach 253 miles per hour. Yes, 1,001 and 253. This is a man’s man’s car. I didn’t know whether to drive it, ask it out or run a spear through its heart, cook it over a fire and hang the 16-cylinder engine in my trophy room.
Eight inches of snow fell the night before my test-drive, so I’m still surprised they let me take it out. (Slick roads and a car whose power I very likely can’t handle—good combo!) I’m not exactly a ballerina on the gas pedal, but I never spun the tires, not even on wet pavement. I fishtailed once, but that was in an icy parking lot. I also needed eight points to do a five-point turn and left my turn signal on for an indeterminate—though I’m 99 percent sure very brief—amount of time. Also: I almost hit a salt truck. When you’re driving a $1.5 million car, every object is closer than it appears.
I’m used to being gawked at on the road because my last car—the Red Dragon, a 1991 Dodge Spirit—was such a beater. Her mere presence was enough to appall other drivers. But this gawking was totally different. In roughly 45 minutes, I bet 10 guys took cellphone pictures of me and my Bugatti. I’m thankful none of them had spears.
The Dragon shook violently at 45 and again at 70. Not only did the Bugatti not shake at 45 or 70, it didn’t shake at 100. It hits 100, yawns and wonders when you’re going to go fast. Wait … I mean, how would I know? I didn’t go 100. I certainly didn’t do it twice, once going east on I-64 as I passed my office, once going west on I-64 as I passed my office again.
All right … yes, I broke triple digits. Sue me. If I hadn’t, my friends would ask for all eternity whether I test-drove the world’s fastest car in a skirt.
Actual Conversation
Copilot: “Is there a good place to eat around here?”
Me: “Annie Gunn’s is near the dealership, and you won’t find a better meal in St. Louis.”
Copilot: “Is it expensive?”
Me: “We’re driving a $1.5 million car, so, no.”
