Back in the mid-1970's I was drivng from Virginia (where I was going to school) down to Florida with a couple of friends. We were in a 1973 Vega, what I was driving in those days. (Fortunately, although it wasn't a very exciting car, I did manage to get one of the ones that never had the mechanical problems that many of them did.)
Anyway, we were on 95 South zippin' along at a pretty good pace. Don't even remember what state we were in, though I suspect it was one of the Carolinas. Then it started to rain. Pretty darn hard. Stupidly, I didn't slow down at all, at least initially. I had no probems personally, but before long I saw another Vega, headed northbound, that I'm pretty sure was the same model and year as the one we were in. I suspect he too failed to adjust his driving technique with the sudden change of weather, probably moving at a similar speed to us.
What caught my attention was the fact that he was doing a 360 (actually probably more like a 720, or possibly worse) in the (fortunately quite wide) grass-covered median area between the highways. It was a sight I'll never forget---they were shooting up a rooster tail of mud and grass that we could see from a quarter mile away. Fortuanately for them, the car came to a stop without colliding with anything more formidable than soaked turf. I could actually see the driver after coming to a stop as we drove by; his eyes seemed as big as saucers and I'm pretty sure his fingernails were embedded into the steering wheel.
I slowed down considerably, and still do when it rains. I absolutely cannot imagine racing in rainy conditions. To me, it borders on insanity. (But maybe that's just me.
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