This Sunday
the Formula One circus moved to Circuit Gilles Villeneuve for the 50th running of the Canadian Grand Prix. Normally I would
glue my eyelids top and bottom to the TV screen for qualifying, the warm-up
studio chit-chat, the actual race and those endless hours of post-race
analysis.
But this
Sunday I had a very peculiar and quite unpleasant experience. I felt a pang of
conscience as I looked at the warm, blue summer sky and at my immensely patient
and hard-suffering girlfriend who had a look on her face like a Guantanamo Bay
prisoner.
I did the
only sensible thing and turned on the telly to drown that booming inner voice
yelling: “Get your lazy arse off the couch!” But as it turned out our cable was
broken. Again.
So we got
into the car and drove up north for the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art and
their Pop Art Exhibition. A pretty clever move on my part. Because what was
parked in the museum parking lot?
This:
It’s
clearly a driver’s car. Because it’s worn by heavy use and the paint is chipped
here and there. And I guess it’s a replica. But then again: I honestly don’t
know.
Does anyone
here know the car? And is it really a
911 RS ’73?
Labels: 1973, 2.7, 911, Louisiana, RS
