The machine roared under her, her knuckles white as she held on for all she was worth. It sometimes seemed to drive itself, merely taking her along for the ride instead of being under her direction and control.
Sometimes it flagged, slowing down to idle but never stopping completely. Then it would lurch forwards, keeping her hanging on as it charged ahead on a second wind.
Bit by bit, people would come to watch the driver, and her fear increased. To be on the machine by herself was one thing, no one would see if she came to a stop or it span out from under her. But when people were watching her, waiting for what came next?
She couldn’t stop. She feared losing control. But the worry was always there, that the machine would burn out. Its tank would run empty. That she would lose her balance and fall hard.
But the drive was all there was, and so she clung on.