from a race, I find myself approaching a fat Escalade on the highway. I have this irresistible urge to pull in right behind it and draft, at the same time feeling terribly guilty about it. Like I have to keep checking my rear view mirror for a motorcycle carrying two people in flourescent vests. I know it’s wrong, but can you IMAGINE MY GAS SAVINGS?
On the way home from Wildflower I finally felt badly enough that I pulled over, opened my car door, and set my foot down for 3 minutes in a self-assessed penalty.