At 2:35 pm on a Monday afternoon it occurs to me I'm in possession of the key for a 2010 Nissan GT-R, I have absolutely no plans for the evening, and chicken wings are quite possibly the only thing that will drown out the depression that a General Motors bankruptcy entails. I immediately e-mail my friends Nick and Aaron to find out if they also crave chicken wings. I should probably point out that Aaron lives in Chicago.

We agree to meet somewhere in Indiana around 8:00 pm to eat the aforementioned chicken wings. Nick is a GM employee and clearly needs a night of hot wings and fast cars more than I do. Aaron and I have hung out five times in four different states, by meeting in Indiana for dinner we can improve that to six times in five states. It took less than 20 minutes for everyone to agree this was a good idea.

Since Nick and I both need driver's licenses to do our jobs, this is not a bullrun-style adventure. It's incredibly tempting (and far too easy) to cruise at 150 mph on empty stretches of interstate, but we pretty much set the cruise in the low 70 mph range and tried to avoid drawing attention. It worked well. There were at least half a dozen police cars on the road and less attentive drivers were usually pulled over a few miles after they rocketed past the GT-R. But the trip confirms driving a fast car slowly is horribly boring.

The GT-R isn't really comfortable for a pair of guys taller than 6'. The GT-R's well-bolstered seats weren't nearly wide enough to allow Nick or me to sit in the seat. If you happen to be the size of a Japanese man it's likely a very good fit, but we are decidedly American-sized, even before the two buckets of chicken wings.

It also makes a lot of noise. Not that the noise is bad--if you don't enjoy the mechanical noises of the twin-turbo V-6 and the insanely-complicated transaxle/all-wheel-drive system you don't deserve to sit in the car, much less drive it. You'll hear the wind, the road, the tires, the brakes, and the jaws of onlookers dropping. You'll also smell clutch and brakes when you come to a stop. And you'll certainly feel every detail of the road surface. The wide tires tramline and don't think for a second you can hold the wheel with just one hand if your foot is anywhere near the gas pedal. A sneeze will kick up a half g of acceleration and the front wheels will want to follow any imperfections in the pavement.

Once we reach our dinner stop, we eat an obscene amount of chicken wings with Aaron, and I take him for a quick ride. In about 3 seconds he decides this GT-R is nothing like a Corvette or Porsche, but very cool nonetheless. It's now after 10:30 pm and we decide to race home before the food coma kicks in. Approximately three miles later we realize we ate way too much and the trip home will not be anything resembling fun.

We stop for gas and an older man stares at the GT-R and asks how big the brakes are. I haven't got a clue, but if these brakes were pizza you could feed a soccer team with the four of 'em. I notice this man is driving a new Toyota RAV-4 with steel wheels and fake chrome hubcaps. Apparently Godzilla turns everyone into an enthusiast. Nick suggests we drive through as many states as possible on the way home and collect beef jerky in each one. I think it's time to get home.

Somewhere outside of Kalamazoo, we stop to change drivers. Minutes later a pair of Pontiac Grand Prix GTPs pull alongside us. One driver tries to get us to race. I instantly classify him as a fool, but then realize there is absolutely nothing else to do in Kalamazoo at 12:35 am. This is probably the highlight of his week.

It's not nearly as glamorous as Sam Smith's trip to Arizona to get In-N-Out, but we still drove a total of 450 miles for chicken wings on a Monday night. Just before we leave the restaurant, the waitress reminds us Tuesdays are all-you-can-eat wing nights. I still have the GT-R and nothing to do tonight...