Periodically, we have tension build up in our lives that requires a release of some kind. Some people cry; others punch; some find a creative outlet. What is your relief?

I grab the keys off the counter and head for the door. There's a million things running through my mind. But I don't have the time or patience to think about any of them right now. I just need to escape. 
The pickup smells of warmed leather, courtesy of the sun beating down on the seats. It starts with a low growl, mirroring my stressful state. I jam it into reverse and shove the pedal to the floor. The diesel responds with a roar. My back tires kick up dirt and rocks, pelting the metal sides. Good thing the truck has a clear protective film. I would've chipped all the paint off by now. Black exhaust surrounds the truck as I slam on the brake then shift into drive. The smell of burned rubber fills the cab as we lurch forward on the pavement. Ah...nothing like burned rubber and diesel exhaust to clear the mind.
The steering wheel is smooth under my palms. I relish the feel of it as I turn onto an open road. I know this road like the back of my palm. It's seen me too many times to count. It provides the long, straight shot of nothingness.
I urge the truck into a steady pace, getting the feel of the divots, the way they move the truck, how to correct the movement from shoving me into the dirt barrow pit. The hum of the tires provide the background noise. That and the whistle of the diesel. I push the truck to pick up pace.  It responds by pressing my back against the seat. The gears shift down to attain the acceleration I crave.
I smile as I think of all the modifications the truck has. It's pushing over five hundred horse power. Even at fifty five miles per hour, it still feels like an airplane taking flight. We're flying. Nothing to stop us, but the end of the road.
Grain fields pass in a green blur. The yellow passing lines a long, single stripe. Black pavement, and the reflection of the sun off the shiny, black hood.
My head is clear. Stress-free. It's only me. The pickup. And the road.
I take a deep breath and relish the freedom. Sailing across the American pavement, with nothing holding me back. 
I've reached over a hundred, and I thirst for more. A slight hill provides a good view of the road in front of me. It's open, begging for me to go faster.
The pickup reaches a hundred and twenty before I ease off. There's a car in the distance, and with me doubling the speed, I will be upon it before I can blink.
The engine gurgles as it reins itself in. It's gasping for air. Just as I am.
The speed limit feels like a restrictive vice against my chest. I pass the car and regain flight. The pickup spreads it's wings. We're going so fast that I don't dare look down at the speedometer.
A stop sign is coming up. My ride is about to end. As I press on the brake and bring the truck to a stop, a sigh escapes my lips. That's more like it.