Mid-stage is no time to let your driver know his navigator has no damn clue what's going on. My helmet has just been crammed into the cross ribs of the roof of our Miata for the third time in less than a kilometer, driving a guttural "OOMPH" from my lungs mid-sentence at the same time. I regain my breath, look from the route book to the kitchen timer that's Velcroed to the rally computer on the dash, and start counting out the seconds on my fingers. My tiny brain is already too overloaded for simple math, and I've reduced myself to elementary school tricks for quick calculations.
Autoblog, How to lose the 2011 Targa Newfoundland in one easy step (video)
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