It had been a succession of slow days after my frantic-paced European tour came to an end. I was staying with my uncle in Munich, Germany and it was quiet. Too quiet.

"Do you know where we can rent a car?" I asked my sixteen year old German cousin.

"Yes. It is not far, we can go by foot. But if you need a car, I'm sure that we could use my father's...."

"Not quite the car I had in mind. Let's go."

We walked across the street, through a succession of alleyways and even the courtyard of a local hospital, and then we were there. My cousin knew his way around Munich like only a local could. This city is like a maze, and I should know. I spent two hours literally driving in circles once trying to find his apartment. Munich is not a city for cars. The people know it, as does the local government. They encourage you to leave your car outside the city and use the excellent public transportation. However, our ironic destination of a car rental agency lay directly before us.

We jogged over the street and under the now familiar scaffolding which seemed to follow me everywhere across Europe. The interior of the building was a total contrast to the crumbling exterior. Through the double glass doors was a sterile, modern office. The walls and ceiling were white, with a checkered tile floor. Embedded above us were spotlights, which accompanied by track lights and a pattern of tiny suspended lamps, lit the space brilliantly.

"Can I help you?" asked the beautiful young woman in German.

"Yes." I replied, feeling very out of place in my casual California shorts and tee-shirt in this professional environment.

"Do you have a very normal car for me to rent" I asked in my accent free, but garbled German.

"I'll check to see what is available."

I fumbled through the pamphlets on her desk, and had to laugh when I saw that you could rent Harley Davidson motorcycles. Further perusal revealed what I was looking for, the sports cars!

"All we have left is the Mercedes Combi" she said with a telephone crimped between her ear and shoulder.

"I was thinking of something more on the lines of this..." I said while pointing to the sports car pamphlet.

Looking perplexed but amused, she put down the phone and adjusted herself to address us juveniles who were taking up her time.

"The Porsche is available, but you need to be twenty-five years old and have two major credit cards..." she informed us curtly.

"No problem." I replied, and reached for my wallet.

I handed the now surprised woman my Visa and Mastercard Gold, hoping my true of twenty-four would not become an issue. As it was, she thought my 18 year old cousin was the older of us!

The bluff worked and in a flash I was in the car: A black Porsche 944s. 200 plus horsepower, aluminum wheels and motor, delux leather seats & sunroof. Basically the whole automotive hedonism package. From it's birth on an engineers drafting table to the showroom floor this car had but one destiny: to be driven by me. A flick of the key and it purred to life. I pulled away onto the street like a fish joining it's school, in a quick, fluid dash. The car responded like an extension of my body to my every command. It leaped ahead when I pressed the gas pedal, and just as confidently slowed with a press of the brake. A whisk of the wheel and we changed lanes like a slot-car. I was in absolute motor-head heaven. I looked over at my cousin and navigator, who was busy shaking his head. I flashed him a devious smile. "When you first got here," he explained, "it seemed that you had outgrown some of your craziness. Now, thank god, I see that you are just as crazy as ever!" We laughed at his comment and sped down the road towards the autobahn. Our course was to take us on a giant circle, around the German countryside and returning us to our hometown of rural Mainburg in Bavaria. The trip ordinarily would take all day, but with no speed limit and a car that could go over 260 kilometers per hour, we saw no problems in completing the trek in a few hours. There was no traffic on the first stretch of autobahn, but the road was older, curvaceous, and only two narrow lanes wide. This was the perfect way to start. I guided my missile through the curves and across the straight stretches like a pilot. I was gaining confidence, and was starting to push the car to its limits. The speedometer indicated that we were somewhere near 230 KPH, but I could not let my eyes linger long enough to really tell. At that speed a split second is all you have to look away from ahead of you. As we sped up, the insects no longer seemed able to avoid the windshield, and dotted the glass like raindrops. I pushed harder. I was confident now, even cocky. I had to fight for control in the corners to keep the car on the road. I was on the edge and loving it. Then suddenly there was a deafening bang on the windshield. It was like a gunshot. I froze in terror, and tried not to panic and slam on the breaks and lose control. I gradually slowed us down to figure out what had happened. We had hit a bird, and it literally disintegrated on our windshield at that speed. I looked at my cousin. He was pale, and sunken into his seat. "I thought we lost a tire. I thought we were finished!" he explained and we both laughed nervously. It took a few dozen kilometers to stop shaking and gather my courage, and by then it was time to change autobahns. Our new course was straight, well maintained, and three lanes wide. We regained our rapid rate, and after awhile, even our insane pace becoming commonplace. The car handled so smooth and perfect that the reality that you are hurling across the earth at lethal speeds is lost. You are in control, and are not afraid. The landscape whizzes by, but the other traffic is not going that much slower, so they are not difficult to avoid. I begin to create my own version of reality. I decide that for once, I am the king of the road. No cocky Germans in their big performance cars are going to creep up behind me and give the annoying "flash to pass" signal. Today, I am in the fast lane, and the rest of the world must get out of my way. The freeway has become my playground, and I wish to be king of the hill. I am the road warrior, waiting for a worthy apponant. It is only a matter of time before I receive my challenge. In the rear view mirror I see the flashing headlights of an opponent. I move right so that my challenger can pass and I can assess the threat. My challenge is in the form of a well-dressed businessman in a grey Mercedes Hammer, a modified version of their smaller sedan. "Kein problem for ze Porsche" I say in English, with an exaggerated German accent that makes my cousin laugh. I downshift and push hard on the accelerator. We are pushed back into our seats as the car obediently lunges forward. Reaching red-line, I upshift to continue our chase. The beast in my control obeys, and surges onwards. Let the games begin. The speedometer indicates 220 kph. My heart pounds. 230. My palms sweat. 240. The rush of wind becomes deafening. "Jesus, how fast can this guy go?" I shout. 250. It is getting insane. The world is just a blur around us. The car still feels solid, but is really working to keep up the pace. The 944 only has a four-cylinder engine, and the car roars as we reach 260. Everything is shaking. Every muscle and nerve in my body is tense with the adrenaline rush. At this speed the tiniest mistake is unthinkable. "We are crazeeeeeeeee!" I yell above the noise, never finishing the sentence but continuing on into a scream. My cousin starts to scream. I scream again. I can't keep up this speed. The car is capable of more, but I am not. I am scared in a way I have never been before. That fear that you might just screw up and kill yourself. My nerves are shot and my muscles sore from the tension. What was probably no more than ten minutes seemed like hours. I had to give up. The damn Mercedes just kept going. I let off the accelerator and let him go. Only when the world wasn't a blur anymore did we breath easy. "You win buddy. Your'e in a bigger hurry to die than I am!" I said. My cousin agreed, and we made our way home, to race again someday. It was the thrill of a life-time, the kind of thing so many dream about but never get to experience. But I did, and I vow to do it again! Maybe next time in a Ferrari. Or better yet, that damn Mercedes!