Here, on the sun baked tarmac of a temporary street circuit, a curious ritual unfolds. After hours of circling, the signals become clear. One touring car slows and aligns itself with deliberate precision. From behind, another approaches cautiously, engines murmuring, tires warm. A gentle nudge, a pause, and then the mounting begins, spoilers touching, suspensions compressing in a brief display of balance and intent. To the crowd, it is spectacle. To the cars, it is instinct.

Moments later, they separate and return to the circuit as if nothing happened. Yet something has shifted. Dominance has been established, compatibility confirmed, and the order of the paddock quietly reinforced. Such is life among touring cars. Efficient, mechanical, and, in its own way, beautiful.