I open the tiny door, diffidently point my toe toward the foot well, and fall into the driver’s seat by sliding under the cowl as I compress myself into the tiny BMW 700 RS roadster, trying not to sacrifice all of my dignity as I do so. I then wedge my abundance down into the seat, at which point I am presented with a dash devoid of instruments except for a tachometer, and even that looks like an add-on.
Just as it must have been for legendary German racing legend Hans Stuck— who was also my size— getting my six feet, two inches and 210-pounds into a position to be able drive takes a bit of squirming. I finally manage to feel with my feet to connect up with the tiny pedals just inches from the front of the car.
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