Word: straightaways
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...Trips flipped off the road last year, killing himself and 15 spectators. No accidents marred this year's race. Blasting his dark-green B.R.M. (for British Racing Motors) into the lead on the very first lap, Hill poured it on for 86 laps, hitting 180 m.p.h. on the straightaway, taking the corners with precision. At the finish, he was 30 seconds ahead of the No. 2 man, the U.S.'s Richie Ginther, in another B.R.M. Hill's average speed for 307 miles: a whistling 123.5 m.p.h...
Racing neck and neck, the yellow car and the red car both managed to scoot across the railway crossing just ahead of a lumbering locomotive. They barreled around a curve and into a straightaway with a traffic light shining green ahead. Just before they reached it, the light winked red, and two trucks that had been waiting at the intersection started across. The red car stopped in time, but the yellow car ran the light and bulleted broadside into one of the trucks...
...Utah's Bonneville Salt Flats, Los Angeles Physician Nathan Ostich, 52, roared down the twelve-mile straightaway in his jet-powered Flying Caduceus racing car for an assault on the world's land speed record (394.2 m.p.h.). He was up to 331 m.p.h. at the three-mile mark when the sleek red-and-chrome car suddenly veered off course. Ostich popped the eight-foot parachute brake; the Flying Caduceus skidded wildly for nearly two miles, snapped off a wheel, hopped briefly into the air and shuddered to a halt. Unhurt, Ostich surveyed the wreckage and growled...
...Great balls of betel nut," roars Ives as he looks deep into the drawing-room eyes of the new arrival, "they've sent me a totok" which is Dutch slang for greenhorn. Straightaway, Ives saves scene after scene of the picture by stealing it. Guzzling what he calls P.G. (pure gin) from a half-gallon tin, charging and trumpeting like a white war elephant in a Panama suit, Ives produces his gutsiest acting triumph since Big Daddy...
...thrill blasting down the straightaway at 180 m.p.h. What's really thrilling is taking a 70-m.p.h. corner at 75-coming through it at the absolute limit of tire adhesion, with the nose pointed perfectly down the straightaway and the throttle flat on the floor. Then you feel like an artist who has spent his life trying to paint the smile of Mona Lisa, finally gets it right with a single flick of his brush, and says to the rest of the world, "There, you bastards, match that!" There are not many who can even come close to Britain...