The Rally.

The dirt was loose, the weather was bleak, and through my veins pulsed every ounce of blood my body contained at light speed, coursing through my hands, despite the white knuckle grip that I had bestowed upon the steering wheel. Under the hood, the power-snorting V8 engine roared as it carried me through the forest on this narrow stretch of dirt road, kicking up untold amounts of mud, dust and brush in its wake. This Land Rover was unlike any I had ever driven, and this race was unlike any I had ever competed in. In the passenger's seat my co driver accompanied me, providing insight on upcoming corners as we strived to finish the backwoods sprint as fast as physics and our minds would allow us to. This was the G4 challenge, and the stakes were high.

I had remembered at the beginning of the race what my father had told me as a child. It was a lesson that I had carried into my adulthood and to this day, it made perfect sense. Today, I was holding those words true to every corner I took with the Defender at blistering speed. My co-driver was steady with his instruction and I was anticipating each corner with great confidence.

"Left crown into 2 right sweep!" He exclaimed into the microphone, the adrenaline forcing the words out in a rushed tone and a proper volume. He had to shout to overcome the sheer volume of the powerful engine up front.

I cranked the wheel left, the sound of loose gravel and mud kicking up beneath the car, understeer threatening to put us into any one of the hundreds of trees that rushed passed us as we progressed through the sprint.

"Right sweep into 4 left crest!" He exclaimed with vigor.

As we came out of the bend, I mercilessly turned the wheel hard right, correcting the slide and putting the Land Rover back on track, a lick of over steer kicking the tail out just enough to whip our bodies against the grain of gravity and inertia. There was only a mile left.

A straight lay ahead, and as we came upon it, I pressed my foot hard down. Though the dirt and mud seemed straight and level to the naked eye, the story that the suspension told was quite the contrary. We hit dips and crests that pressed down the springs at some times, and took all four wheels off the ground at others. With my foot hard down, I continued on relentlessly, shaking all doubts I had in my driving abilities as confidence took over. Just as we neared the end of the straight and approached the tight right hander that would lead us to the finish, I turned the wheel, anticipating that I had slowed enough for the thick rally tires to find grip.

I hadn't.

I pressed hard on the brakes, careful not to lock up the wheels of this 2 ton beast as it hurled us toward a tree, rather than keeping us on the road. I only had milliseconds to react, and As the Defender seemed unresponsive to my corrective maneuvers, I turned the wheel as hard as I could to the right, hoping that it would give me a hope of at least avoiding the trunk of the massive Pine tree. I closed my eyes and braced for what I predicted would be a devastating impact.

The Land Rover leaped off the course, still sustaining enough speed to put me and my co driver through the windshield, but as we landed with a hard thud, the wheel which had been cranked to the right, gained traction and veered the truck just wide right of the tree, leaving us in the forest, still moving, the sound of thick and damaging brush banging on the under tray of the land rover, delivering engine-crippling blows as we slowed. Flashes of light came from the distance by the road from the cameras of the spectators and photographers that had witnessed the incident, assuming that we had given up. But we hadn't.

Still carrying speed through the thick and unforgiving brush, I hurled the Land Rover back round toward the track and made my way back through the brush and passed the tree that had nearly compromised our chances of winning; the only sound to warn onlookers to move coming from the ravaging V8 as it propelled us through the forest.

As I re-entered the course, me and my co driver glanced at one another, mutually agreeing that we were still physically in tact despite the battering we had taken from the rough terrain of the forest floor, and I put my foot back down. and continued toward the finish line. We hadn't won, but I knew that finishing with pride was better than not finishing at all. As the crippled Land Rover crossed the line, a steady line of applause filled the air as we came to a stop. Upon exiting the car, it had become apparent just how bad the damage was.

Two flat tires, a bent rim, a missing fender, a bent brush bar and a mucky coating of rocks and mud adorned the sides and back of the truck, turning the orange finish into a gradient brown as my gaze continued down toward the ground.