I open the tiny door, diffidently point my toe toward the foot well, and fall into the driver’s seat by sliding under the cowl as I compress myself into the tiny BMW 700 RS roadster, trying not to sacrifice all of my dignity as I do so. I then wedge my abundance down into the seat, at which point I am presented with a dash devoid of instruments except for a tachometer, and even that looks like an add-on. Just…
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