I drove a seventies McLaren Can-Am car — 800 horsepower, built like a cardboard box. An aluminum honeycomb monocoque, so light it feels like you’re sitting in a racing car made of paper. The acceleration is insane — power-to-weight on par with a modern Formula One car. But safety? Zero. No halo, no survival cell, nothing. Just you, a big Chevy V8, and the track. Driving one is an extreme experience — guaranteed to leave skid marks in your underwear.