The scraping as I pulled into the church parking lot worried me. I'd only had one of the rarest of VeeDubs for a few hours and I might have already nicked it. An unholy shame for sure, since for two weeks I had looked forward to blasting down I-20 at the wheel of an R32. For two weeks I had wondered how loud a redlined VR6 could wail. But for the last two hours I'd done nothing but get lost in Atlanta gridlock trying to set my destination on the car's in-dash nav.
Pulling in the First Pentecostal parking lot's steep entrance was a decision made in frustration and impatience, one made easier with the R32's light, quick steering and massive acceleration. But shelter from the kamikaze traffic I expected, undercarriage damage I did not. A quick inspection revealed nothing of importance had suffered trauma. The 18-inch wheels and their low-profile Continentals looked fine. The rear differential seemed unscathed. The bumper's plastic valance was unharmed and couldn't have made the metal-on-concrete sound I'd heard anyway.
[ Via: Autoblog (Volkswagen) ]
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