I’m starting my third lap at Apex Motor Club, a race-track playground built a few years ago for the well-heeled to stretch the legs of their 911 GT3s and Vette ZR1s outside the confines of speed limits and radar guns. In front of me, keeping pace, is an actual professional driver, and I am desperately fighting my car just to keep him in view. We head into a high-speed left-hander just past Pit Lane. I slam on the Brembos
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