In fact, some of the worse drivers I’ve known have covered cars for a living. One reporter, long since departed, was renowned for his stubborn tendency to drive a healthy 10 miles under the speed limit, which is just as distracting and unpredictable as driving too fast because it disrupts the flow of traffic. An editor at a well-known trade rag turned me a sick shade of chartreuse with his jabby driving in an Italian exotic. I haven’t been happier to roll myself out of a car than I was that day on a back hill in Malibu, Calif.
While driving recently on a racetrack in Spain, I got wind of juicy reporter gossip: Two of the press vehicles from my group had already been sufficiently damaged to take them out of commission.
This meant that two drivers had gone off-track. Such an error is embarrassing at best in front of peers, and serves a good reminder of a subtle, yet critical, distinction in the car world: Just because you write about cars professionally does not make you a professional driver. Or even a great driver. That goes double for owners of 710-plus horsepower Ferrari F8 Tributos and Lamborghini Aventadors. Just because you can afford the mid-six-figure sum required to own one doesn’t mean you know how to drive it.
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