I wish I could better describe the first time I drove my dads GTP. He's 83, and we were test driving the the hog back to the dealer. Exiting off the interstate onto a 55 MPH highway: exit right, switches left, them right again to merge left. Came off the Interstae at 75. The old man said "slow down" as I shifted the balance to the right side. I aimed for the next apex and stretched the cable, full boost. I began to realize I had underestimated the car as it scuffed under the apex and decided to merge traffic on it's own. Three glances: speedo at 105, a white Monte Carlo in the drivers side mirror, too close for comfort, but falling back, and steering wheel at 11 o'clock. I thought, "Screw it, I can't lift. I'm not used to the car, and it's doing a good job of driving itself

". I let the car settle back in without even a hint of a wiggle as the rear tires got bored and decided to get parallel again. 115 MPH, car straight and squarely in its lane, so I decided not to ungraciously discover a governor. I stole a glance at the passenger side, and Dad looked tense, but he never said anything. I'm not sure if he realized I had just power-slid his new car into traffic at 110+. I wonder how long it took for the guy in the Monty to scoop the crap out of his shorts.