As our plane touched down on the tarmac, it quickly became apparent that Atlanta’s weather was a far cry from the sun that we had left behind in Southern California. The dark skies cast a shadow over our arrival while Mike and I wondered what Mother Nature had in store for us. Our itineraries indicated a 30% chance of rain that we paid little attention to when we packed for the weekend.
They say never to meet your heroes. They might not live up to your lofty expectations, they might not be the mythical entity you always thought them to be, and they might just let you down. With that thought creeping around in the back of my head, I was trying not to get too worked up about the argyle-clad monster that was suddenly in my path.
It has been 24 hours; the wonderful scent of raw fuel and incinerated tires has finally been expunged from my lungs, but the smile remains. Formula Drift: Atlanta was all-out this year, leaving nothing to be desired.
The competition at Formula D doesn’t fall short; it’s cutthroat to say the least, with the hardest part being the big names versus the privateers… the guys like you and I, putting cars together in their garages with cash from their own paychecks.