Thirty minutes ago I was hustling a car through the rolling, glass-smooth two-lanes of Virginia’s horse country, my hands happily clasped to a thick, three-spoke steering wheel as I arced the front tires through kinks and bends and wriggles, my feet playing the three pedals as if I were summoning bass notes on a pipe organ, my right hand jumping to the five-speed manual lever to choose shifts up and down, suspension beneath me deftly deflecting road bumps while keeping all four corners locked down and obedient. I was having fun.
I was not driving a Porsche, though. My grins appeared from the helm of a station wagon.
Source: Motor Trend