Eighteen in 24 hours!
Now, it's not motor racing I know, but it's endurance to say the least. Le Vingt Quatre Heures du Glans I'd say. It brings to mind the Brunsport Porche that expired on the last lap in 1989. Whether Walti was busy cranking the last one out on the virage Ford at the time when smoke started belching out the cockpit, I can't say. But you couldn't blame him, he's a man after all, with lusts and desires. Anyway, those cockpit cams soon put paid to that sort of carry on.
When you mention a dry gust on the last go, I can't help thinking of a snake caught in a dust storm clearing its throat with a kind of hacking cough, maybe he should have fed it a little linctus.
And as for his 'handlebar grip', at least he'll know when he's met the right woman. Like King Arthur and Excalibur, they'll be as one, a perfect fit. 'And as I hold this Knob, I take my place as the True, and Righful, Queen of all of Englande'.
H