Middle East Blog: Never Again

23 Mar Middle East Blog: Never Again

This is actually one of OJ’s entries from the first trip last year that got tucked away somewhere. I just ran across it again and it’s worth posting even a few months late. Great read.

We had just left the airport and were on the way to Motor Sport for some dyno runs. On the way there we see what looks to be a fully loaded Porsche 997 GT3 at a Michelin tire shop. Mike and Hani get their “salesmen” face on and walk up to two well dressed men in their dishdasha. “Were here in town from the US to do some tuning and we have the capability to do your car”. We formally met an extremely likable gentlemen we will call Turrab for the sake of anonymity, in a 997 911 n/a, and Ali in a Supercharged Range Rover.

Hastily agreeing to a tune, Turrab confidently demands Mike to “get in”. Mike jumped in with Turrab, but quickly regretted the decision. Wincing and bracing his body in fear; the car slid in and out heavy traffic, through turnabouts and traffic lights, Turrab was soon far ahead of our deceptively roomy, yet efficient rental Honda City. It was hard to ignore the tension on Mike’s brow, his hair frazzled, his skin as white as Turrab’s robe. “Never again” are the first words mike can make out. “The dude I met at Michelin just tried to kill me” Mike explains.

The car gets put on the dyno and pounds out 280hp easily to the rear wheels. However, the soldering station can’t take the 220v and soon begins to smoke. The owner of Motor Sport is looking tired and can see that its now going to be a long night. We wrap things up get the Porsche off the dyno and tell Turrab we are going to have to do his tune tomorrow, but through a stroke of luck were staying in the same hotel. Turrab is on holiday for the last week, in his home city, 5 min away from his house, in one of the hotel’s top suites and is on the A team for a Qatar sports team. Sounds great, with the exception of two things; The hotel is 20 min away, and some one has to ride with. That someone is me.

Sideways, missing pedestrians out of the parking lot, banging off the rev-limit we are soon past 80mph as we blast into a congested roundabout. At this point I decide “I cannot show any fear or hesitation, I’m the owner of a performance shop, he will expect more from me” So for the next twenty minutes I must stay calm and cool. Shattering 150mph on busy roads we dive into the first turnabout. Turrab’s English is sub par at best, yet I don’t miss a word. “I like to drift” he calmly states, to which i bluntly reply “I can tell”. My face slides ever closer to the rear quarter panel of the Nissan patrol cautiously entering the roundabout, before being snapped back by Turrab’s foot lifting off the accelerator. The Blitz ends for 15 seconds as we pass a speed camera, but unfortunately, that just means we have to make up for lost speed.

Again were in to it, long past 130mph we weave in and out of cars who clearly don’t want any part of this local speed assault. We enter and drift another roundabout, but so successfully, that we kept enough speed to remove the needle well past my line of vision at the 155mph mark. The accelerator lifts as we start the drift entering another roundabout, but this time we stumble and Turrab is not pleased. What does this mean? This means we go around again, but its not really like we stop and retry it, it just means we drift the rest of the turnabout right past the part we had the hiccup. Again the needle is gone and it feels we are going faster.

I’m impressed with the control of the car, while not the greatest I have ridden with, its good. What really impresses me, and I mean really impresses me, are the size of this guys balls. I’m all about driving fast and driving crazy, its why I do this for a living. I would never give that much trust to the guys driving on the road the same time as me. What if they freak out as I pass them and swerve into me? I just can’t do it. (We at Fluid MotorUnion don’t condone reckless driving blah blah blah etc.)

There is two times to let off the accelerator on Turrab’s watch, a quarter till speed camera and cell phone O’clock. Once those times end we are instantly back into it. In the distance is a legitimate stop light, and as we blast up to it, Turrab asks me “where are you friends?” Now for the real hero. Hani, some how, armed with a lack sense of direction, an aggressive driving attitude that could rival the country’s best and a 115hp Honda city packed with 3 men and luggage is directly behind us. Turrab knowing full well that Hani doesn’t know how to get back to this hotel, looks agitated. Then I hear it, Tiptronic clicks down to its lowest gear. Light goes green and Turrab puts as much distance between him and the Honda as he could. This is as fast as we have gone. As I blaze into my new personal Doha land speed record Turrab points to the side of the road and tells me “Some time ago I hit those.” I look and asses the landscape for a moment, I hopefully reply “Oh a curb, or that curb?” “No” he firmly replies. I dare not continue the conversation as the only other thing was a man, dressed in fluorescent yellow, sweeping the street; there was no mistaking his implementation.

We sit waiting on the side of the road with the flashers on waiting for the Honda to find us. We are five full minutes ahead. Once at the hotel we head to the room do de-solder and read his chip. Turrab explains to Hani that wants to take me for sheesha, maybe he is impressed with my calmness, but probably just wants to make an American friend. In we walk into the restaurant only to find it has closed, and Turrab assures me, as well as management, that its still open. Six waiters stand around our table, waiting for us to leave. We are given the finest “salloum” sheesha. The smooth smoke spun my head around and I tried to appear unfazed. We pay with what appears to be to much and the management makes it known, but Turrab refuses any change.

We return to the room and wrap up the tune, we take pictures with the sports star and he is on his way. In only a way that he can exit Turrab neutral bombs his transmission and rips the car away from is parking spot. In the distance we see the taillights appear to show the suspension load right before he drifts out of site. We hear the car’s boxer engine for another 2 minutes as it continues un-seen, screaming onto the highway. Hoping he is satisfied with the tune we lay down with the intention of sleep. 30 minutes later the phone rings, it’s Turrab, our heads pound, running through any issues this celebrity may be having. In his most enthusiastic voice of the night he simply exclaims, “I love it.”