It was a drizzly night as we made our way home from the circuit. We came out through an unfamiliar exit, just blindly following the signs until we hit the main road. Traffic was light but the roads were kind of spooky - unfamiliar fast curves between the trees seen through the wiper strokes, occasional buildings up close to the road, detail smeared through the glass, demister struggling to keep up.
Then through the mist it loomed, a double right-hand kink, very solid white-painted farm building picked out by the headlights tight up to the left-hand kerb on the exit. It was a vista familiar from countless '50s and '60s motor racing pictures: Masta Kink. We were on the old Spa circuit.
No longer was I in the passenger seat of a road car but inside Chris Amon's March 701 on the last lap of the 1970 Belgian Grand Prix, Pedro Rodriguez's BRM P153 the only thing between me and my first grand prix victory. I wanted to know, looking at this curve: was it feasible to take it flat in top?
Instantly, I thought, 'Yes, do it! Flat.' It was close enough to feasibility to allow desire to disregard the enormous peril, ignore the lethal roadside furniture as irrelevant (all imagined from the passenger seat of a prosaic road car, remember). Oh dear... I'd briefly crossed my sanity line there, briefly crossed over to the dark side.