It exploded at me around a blind embankment, big truck, top-heavy, heeling as it hurtled downhill. What its driver saw, way down under his bluff bow, was my little white Volvo 122S hustling uphill just as hard. Obviously, both of us were enthusiasts caught up in the joyous rhythm of driving those deliciously dangerous Mexican mountain bends. Of course, being superb wheelmen at the tops of our games, we found plenty of room, whole inches of it, and were by…
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