If you ever want to get punched in the nose by a NASCAR driver, tell him, "You're just driving a car -- even I can drive a car."

Usually I just ignore those idiots, but I'll still fantasize about grabbing the guy by the collar, dragging him to the Charlotte Motor Speedway and taking him for a banzai lap in one of the driving school's two-seaters. The closest I get to realizing that fantasy is when corporate suits ride shotgun during sponsor meet and greets. By the first turn, even the biggest doubter has retracted his statement. By the second turn, he's white-knuckling the roll bar. By the end of the first lap, nine out of 10 folks are begging me to stop. And so I always do a few more laps. I want them to get a feel for what they're paying for.