Feature
Spain Supercar Tour: Supercar Driver Mil Millas España
Paul reflects on 1,000 miles of sun-soaked Spanish petrolhead Nirvana on our Mil Millas España tour as returning to normal life hits home.
May 13, 2025
Has three of the slowest hours on Zoom turned Paul into a new driver? Here's everything he learned on his speed awareness course.
For journalistic reasons – and entirely for your benefit – I did something bold this week. I attended a speed awareness course. On purpose. Now, some of you might say, “But you can’t just choose to go on one”, and you’d be right. That’s why, in the name of member service and investigative brilliance, I deliberately got caught speeding. I took one for the team. You’re welcome.
It happened at 4:46 am just outside Nottingham, in a 30 zone that looked suspiciously like a 38 zone, whilst on my way to lead the Yorkshire Dales Drive. And let’s be honest – when you’re driving a car that sounds like the end of days every time you breathe on the throttle, subtlety isn’t really an option. So yes – the letter arrived, the fine was offered, and I said, “No, thank you. I’d rather spend three hours on Zoom being lectured about stopping distances by a man in a fleece”.
The course was booked for Wednesday afternoon, which meant I had to clear my schedule of more important things like staring out the window, scrolling through Auto Trader, and watching a YouTube video titled “Why this 1993 Honda Accord is better than a Bugatti”.
Now, the rules of the course are simple:
It’s basically The Hunger Games, but with PowerPoint and a man called Alan telling you that “30 means 30”.
The instructor appeared on screen wearing the expression of a man who has seen things. There were twelve of us. One was clearly in a car. One was eating an egg sandwich with all the enthusiasm of a coma patient. One had no idea how to unmute herself and just waved at everything. It was, in short, the greatest collection of road users since the first season of Wacky Races.
We began with the classic: “Can anyone tell me the difference between speed and stopping distance?”. “Yes”, I wanted to say. “About 3 points and £100”. But I didn’t. Because I was afraid Alan would send the police round.
We were then shown a diagram that looked like it had been drawn by a toddler after three Red Bulls. It showed how long it takes to stop from 30mph. Spoiler: It’s longer than you think. Apparently, if your tyres are bald and it’s raining, it could take up to 300 miles. Or something.
At one point, they said, “You must always be able to stop within the distance you can see to be clear.” I said nothing, but I was thinking about Alpine passes, blind corners and my Challenge Stradale’s carbon brakes that only start working when they’re hot enough to melt granite.
There was a breakout session. Yes – a breakout session. We were asked to share a time we “felt tempted to speed” and how it made us feel. I said, “Just now, when you asked that question”. They didn’t laugh.
We were also told not to refer to it as a “course” but as an “educational workshop”. I nearly called the police myself.
After what felt like seven years, we arrived at the final slide. It had a picture of a smiling family, presumably taken moments before Dad got clocked doing 41 in a 30 because the Tesla was in Chill Mode and he’d dozed off.
Alan thanked us. No one thanked him back.
Would I recommend it? No. Unless you enjoy guilt, graphs, and seeing twelve adults pretend they don’t hate each other through a webcam. But was it valuable?
Yes – in the sense that I now drive like I’m delivering a wedding cake made of nitroglycerine. For about a week. Then I’ll go back to doing 33 in a 30, with the awareness that somewhere out there, Alan is waiting – ready to strike.
Still. I did it for you. So next time you’re tempted to speed, ask yourself: Is it worth spending three hours in a virtual classroom, being shamed by a man who says “utilise” unironically? Because I can tell you – from bitter, slow-moving experience – it absolutely isn’t.
