It wasn’t red but a very loud yellow and it certainly didn’t look “little” as it stood in the car parking lot next to a Porsche Cayman S or the BMW 335i I had just stepped out from: so much for Prince’s song, then…
It wasn’t a Z06 or (heaven forbid) a ZR1; just a plain-Jane, 430HP Corvette C6 coupe. Despite never having driven America’s supercar before, I grabbed the Cayman's keys before you could say “Vette”.
I had a three-hour trip ahead of me, half of it on twisty mountain roads, and I figured I would be much better off with Zuffenhausen’s best-handling car than something with leaf springs in its suspension.
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