A sound like a really pissed-off wasp armed with both a chainsaw and a handgun echoes through the mountain air. You can’t see the source of the noise just yet, but you know it’s heading towards you. Bang. Another gear. Maybe seventh.
Then it blasts into view from behind the pine trees, braking heavily into the hairpin, a slight squeal of momentarily locked wheels. The car’s rotating, outside front heavily loaded, cocked inside rear hanging briefly as loading and camber conspire. Then the car’s scrabbling out of the corner. The chainsaw and firearm are back. Close your eyes and it could be an Escort Mk2 with a highly tuned Millington under the bonnet, but it’s the other pair of wheels doing the driving on this occasion.
Another switchback and as the car turns in the rear swings round to the point where you think the driver might need to add some corrective lock, but perfectly on the apex the slide stops and the front wheels drag it out of the corner, diff locked. The wide rear arches recede from view. The other spectators lower their phones and check the footage. There will be another one along in a minute. Another nugget of nostalgia being driven as it was intended.
