QUARTER POUNDER

Dan throws a final challenge at the RS3 with a trip to the drag strip

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THERE IS A part of my brain that has evolved specifically for driving the Audi RS3 and, no matter what the other lobes are preoccupied with, is continually thinking about my driver’s license and the importance of its existence in my life.

Under normal day-to-day driving, the little bundle of synapses does nothing more than quietly fizzing away with a background level of electrical activity. That is until my ears send it the unmistakable sound of a turbocharged 2.5-liter five-cylinder at the redline, followed by the DCT dumping the clutch on second. At this point, the specialized ganglia calculate that the Audi is rapidly on its way to a police impound and immediately relaxes the calf muscle in my right leg. It’s this brilliant human adaptation that has allowed me to retain the permission to drive on public roads despite being the custodian of the RS3 for four months now.