Letting My Mind Drift
My family has always been enamored by cars and motorcycles. For a long time that fascination focused on motorcycles exclusively. My uncle bought a harley, which led my grandparents to buy a Harley and Royal Enfield (grandpa and grandma), which led me to buy a Suzuki V-Strom. This was complemented by friends buying yet another Harley, a Kawaski Vulcan, and a Yamaha F-07. Motorcycling controlled our get-togethers for more than 4 years. Eventually the moto-fever faded, but not before it made a lasting impact in our lives. We watched motorcycle documentaries like Why We Ride, shows like The Long Way Down and The Long Way Round, and fell in love with small market makers like Shinya Kimura and even Keeanu Reeves’ Arch Motorcycle Company. In the height of this fascination we also fell in love with BBC’s Top Gear.
As motorcycles transitioned out of our main means of transportation the love remained, but a growing interest in automotives began to seep into the cracks. Top Gear was always on repeat in the Sawyer household. As comes with watching a show this closely, we began to think and even jokingly speak as hosts Jeremy Clarkson, James May, and Richard Hammond when we saw cars. Now, years after the Top Gear fallout, The Grand Tour is making its way into our sphere of conversation. But it isn’t alone.
I have always dabbled in driving games. I have fond memories of winning a few races in Gran Tourismo well before I was old enough to understand the ins and outs of tuning an automobile for the track. I remember outrunning the cops in Need for Speed Hot Pursuit. Street races in Midnight Club, drag races for pink slips in Blur (I think?), drifting in Need for Speed Underground. I have fond memories of specific moments of car games, but very few of those same games have kept my attention for very long.
I tend to attribute this attention deficit to the same reason I don’t really play fighting games. I tend to play my games for the story, diving headlong into narrative adventure, strategy, or roleplaying games. I can play XCOM, Mass Effect, or God of War for days. I find the simplicity, or lack of implicit depth, a bit of a turn off. That’s not me saying those games don’t have depth. I love watching EVO tournaments and enjoy duking it out with friends on occasion, but the learning curve to skill in those games is often steeper than I have patience for, given the fact those games tend to be just that: learning the core mechanics of the fighting and perfecting that knowledge.
I loved to hop into a few races, trade some paint, slide out a slick drift, and grab some air, but I rarely stuck around to perfect any of those skills.
Fast forward to Forza Motorsport 4 and 5. If there is a better example of dipping your towns into something, I’m not sure I know it. I specifically remember jumping in with Ryan (@sergeantsodium) on one specific occasion and attempting to drift. I failed miserably. Then, as if to rub salt in my wounds, Ryan had me pull my vehicle about twelve feet from the wall and proceeded to drift the entire bend leading to my position, and weave his car neatly between my own car and the wall at a cool 50-60mph. It was a marvel to behold. It was also my signal to log off of the game, not come back for weeks, and trade the game to GameStop a month or so later.
Then three things happened: Forza Horizon 4 came out. I learned that my control scheme wasn’t conducive to what I was wanting to do. 2020 happened.
Let's break that down. Forza Horizon 4 came out in 2018 to great reviews. What’s better, it was on Game Pass, so I had no reason not to at least try it. The opening moments were like an IV drip of endorphins. A shot glass full of joy. The music, the changing of seasons showcasing their weather systems, the production, the cars, the visuals. It was an all out assault on the senses.
About a year after that first experience, after again watching Ryan drift an entire roundabout, weaving in and out of traffic without missing a shift or beat, we joined a session together with the express goal of teaching me to drift. In moments I learned that a) I was doing it all wrong, and that b) my settings were also getting in the way. Traction Control off, ABS off, manual shifting on, in moments I felt like a new person.
Then 2020 happened and all of the outdoors interaction in most people’s lives came to a grinding halt. No more bike nights at Schlafly Bottleworks, no more long road trips, nothing. Sometime around May I found my way back into Forza Horizon 4. Sometime around May I found my niche.
Having learned the tricks to drifting, all that remained was perfecting the use of those skills. So i took to the tarmac with my Ford Focus hatchback, a car I actually owned at the time, and began working out the kinks of letting the rear end slide out, handbrake turns, feathering the gas, up and downshifting, using gravity, and nailing the perfect run of drifts. Strangely, a process that once turned me away, turned out to be exactly what I was looking for. It was simple and complex, bundled into one. It was almost zen like at times. The music in my headphones pulsing, the engine roaring under the hood, the snap-crack of the exhaust, the screech of tires. While grinding out the skill of drifting, I began to let my mind, like my car, drift.
Drifting became an escape and car building became an obsession. I would log into Horizon and skim through the car catalogue looking for cars that piqued my interest. Turns out I have a type. Retro and boxy-body, or modern import tuners. I have an ‘80 Abarth Fiat 131 (typically a rally car), a slick ‘81 Volkswagen Scirocco S, an absolutely sharp ‘69 Nissan Fairlady Z 432, a ‘97 Mazda RX-7, a Hoonigan inspired ‘73 AMC Gremlin X, a rip-roaring ‘69 Chevy Nova Super Sport 396, an 81’ Ford Fiesta XR2, and - to keep this list short, ha - a spritely ‘74 Honda Civic RS. You’ll see I left out my ‘17 Focus RS. Honestly, though it started the craze, it is far from the top of my priority list.
Each of these cars I have learned extensively, though I shy away from saying I’ve learned them inside and out. Each has its little quirk, be it powering through longform extended bends or nimbly sliding through tight switchbacks. But still, each feels like a piece of art I built, and each rev, gear shift, and spinout builds my knowledge, banshee shrieking through the streets of Edinburgh, sliding the rain slick streets of Lakehurst Forest, or ripping up and down the rolling switches in Derwent Valley.
When riding a motorcycle there is a moment where your conscious brain, focused on the road and balance, recedes into unconsciousness, allowing your normally subconscious thoughts to creep to the front. You think of abstracts: color, sound, smell, feel. The taste of the rain, the spidering cracks in the concrete beneath you. Forza Horizon 4 has granted a return to a form of that process for me. As the controller rumbles and vibrates in my hands I feel the tires slip out, the engine scream for air, the exhaust bark in protest. My mind drifts into a less stressful place, focused instead on the power I lend the engine, the grip of my tires, the sound of my tachometer redlining out of a turn. My mind imagines the smells of fall leaves, spring showers, summer concrete, and terpene-hinted snow.
And then there is rally. Like drifting, a whole skill unto itself demanding practice. The brief silence as you catch air, a pensive pause, the slam of the suspension when gravity pulls me back down, the crash of water. Feeling the rocks and gravel tumbling beneath my wheels is a new sensation. My ‘82 Lancia 037 Stradale is bucking for more.
@LubWub
~Caleb