Failed trip to the Northern Mountains with My Bros

 I don’t know if it’s bad luck, bad timing, or just the universe conspiring against me, but here’s what happened: My friend generously lent me his car for a long-overdue trip with my brothers—a rare 2-3 day getaway we’d been planning forever. So, we set off, all excited, and after a mere 50 km... boom. The car gave up. No power, no will to move forward. We sat there, looking at each other like, "Is this happening?" Waited for about 20 minutes, and miraculously, the car came back to life. But no way was I trusting it for the remaining 500 km, especially since we had mountains ahead—actual big, intimidating mountains. So yeah, I turned around.

This trip was supposed to be special, something we never do, and there I was, heading back home. All the build-up, the anticipation… gone. I’ll get another car soon (hopefully), and maybe then, I won’t have to rely on the kindness of friends or pray that their cars don’t spontaneously decide to take a nap. Oh, and before you ask—no, it was too late to rent a car. Because, of course, everything was working against me that day.

So, what did we do after our grand return to the city? We went karting. Yes, karting. A "why not" move to salvage the day. Honestly, it was fun—and surprisingly expensive—but we liked it. Or at least I thought I was enjoying it until I saw the lap times. Someone beat me by ONE SECOND. One. I was convinced I was the fastest, like, "No one can touch me!" Fast-forward to me realizing I wasn’t. It was a humbling, painful realization.

And the worst part? I didn’t even know during the race! If I’d seen those times earlier, I would’ve turned into a karting god, overtaking every pleb in my way to claim my rightful title. But no. I found out too late. Now I’m plotting my return for a redemption lap. Because there's no way I’m letting someone else be faster than me.