"Seems you got slightly disoriented right there” said the Hungarian border guard with a smile on his face as I misinterpreted his hand gesture and almost got the car in the opposite lane. “Yeah, wasn’t the first time today” I said, sweating all over in the heat and turning the old Ford four-banger off. It was the miles, the temperature, the rush hour, the foreign capital, the masses of one-way streets, the sometimes strange and seemingly inconsequent road signs, the fear of the car being towed away for parking illegally, the crowd, the cheering, the revving of turbocharged straight-6s, V10s and the applause in the – by all means beautiful – Croatian capital, Zagreb. As I waved goodbye to the guards knowing that neither them nor I would be able to afford the cars I had seen just a few hours prior, it was me putting up the smile and carrying on with my personal “Gumball 250″. This is the story of a small portion of the real deal: the Gumball 3000 in Zagreb, Croatia, on the last day of spring, 2011.
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