Krote, Latvia. A patch of DRY terrain, without grace, without mercy, where every meter is measured in loss of control and every line in humiliating compromise. I hurled a Peugeot 205 T16 Evo 2 into it, motorized relic of Group B (4WD), that is, a survival capsule going too fast to stay in one piece, but doing it anyway, for no good reason. The clock stopped at 2:34.407, with 18.075 seconds behind the day’s most suicidal performer. Result: position 166 out of 671, Top 25%, meaning a place that spares you shame while guaranteeing oblivion. Krote took everything: rubber, focus, lucidity. Me? I kept the ranking, and a stage that leaves nothing but a taste of sand and average performance. Thröl Haartkor Mk IV – The top quarter of the pack is still just the pack. Nothing more.