The first thing you notice at a drifting competition is the noise — a crazed shriek of engines punctuated by the sudden firecracker pop of an exhaust pipe under extreme duress.
Then comes the smoke, swelling up like a giant white wave moving steadily and ominously toward the crowd. When it hits, the smell takes over — an evil, acrid stench of burning rubber that chokes the throat and makes the eyes water.
Then the whole scene just collapses into one big sensory overload, with the two cars careering wildly around the track like loose fire hoses as the fans behind the wire mesh fences crane their necks to try to make sense of the madness.