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Descriptive Essay: Col De Turini

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The halogen lamp heralds a royal green. The iridescent emerald looms silently in the air, holding still the fabric of time, only to be shattered by a thunderous roar. A roar produced by exasperated hydrocarbons released their fury, hurtling a box of Kevlar and carbon towards eternity. 31 kilometres. 31 kilometres of perilous journey through a treacherous land, we charge onwards like soldiers. However, the battle is only ours to fight; the mortals believe our battle is futile, they believe we fight out of juvenile foolhardiness. We forge onwards; we are headed for the holy land. This is the Col de Turini. As we spur forwards, the locals gather. They do not partake in our fight, they merely watch in awe as we charge through our colosseum. The area is steeped in tradition and locale shuts down for one cold January night. They call it the Night of the Long Knives. A fierce lance of white light spears and …show more content…

The acrid smell of burning plastic dries out the bottom of my lungs whilst brake dust stings my eyes, my throat closes and my diaphragm spasms in a vain attempt to clear the putrid fumes. The crowd watches in silence, a flaming wreck spearing through the foothills of France. A crimson red runs down my arm and my hand begins to seize, it is becoming unbearable; the finish seems futile. The motor spits and chokes, the fuel lines severed by the brutal impact. One-half of a kilometre. Our struggle intensifies; we only spur onwards at the thought of a victory, fuelled by adrenaline. We’re descending, the road falls away like a diving eagle, the pressure in my ears and my skull builds, fighting to equalise with the rest of the atmosphere. The final link, the wishbone, gives way; the front left corner ploughs into the ground. We are mercilessly close to the timing trap. The chassis buries itself into the stalwart snow that lines the stage, the rear end pendulums round and throws across the

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