Finding the apex.

I’ve loved Formula 1 for decades.

Yes, the speed. But I can spend just as much time looking at the shape of the car. The low nose. The wings. The way the whole thing seems to lean into its purpose, even when it’s standing still.

Then it moves.

There’s a moment entering a corner that I love watching. The car pitches forward, turns in, and follows a line toward the apex. Then the driver opens the steering and heads toward the next corner.

When it comes together, it looks like one continuous thought.

The way in matters.

I’m fascinated by that relationship between entry and exit. You aren’t simply getting around the bend. You’re positioning yourself for what comes after it.

That’s where my mind starts wandering beyond the circuit.

An access point. An angle. A way through. Not just arriving somewhere, but arriving with room to do something once you get there.

I don’t need every interest I have to become a lesson about disability. Sometimes I just want to look at a beautiful racing car. And this one is a damn good-looking car.

But I do notice connections.

Access is the beginning.

With technology, with a building, with a system somebody expects me to use, I’m often asking a version of the same question: what does this way in make possible next?

Can I participate? Can I make choices? Can I change direction without needing somebody else to do it for me?

That’s what I mean when I say access without agency isn’t enough.

And unlike a race, life doesn’t have one line that everybody should follow. The useful route has to fit the person taking it.

A little room to imagine.

This AP-44 concept is part of that curiosity. A way to bring my love of racing, shape, and design into the world I’m building.

Not a claim that I’ve started a racing team. There are already enough expensive hobbies in this house.

Just a picture that makes me stop, look, and think about the next corner.

Find your way in. Keep your choices on the way out.