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Great book about the Tuk Tuk experience in India. After firmly negotiating the fare you climb into the dirty, rusty auto-rickshaw careful not to cut yourself on loose metal. You then reach into your pocket, take out your hand towel and cover your mouth to protect yourself from the never ending clouds of foul black emissions.

"The race." She said. "India. Were you serious...?"
About racing a tuk-tuk one thousand kilometres through India with a woman I'd just met?
No, I wasn't serious.
"There's a fifty percent chance we'll die. And the flight's in two days. But if you want to, okay..."
It was not a reasonable offer. But then she wasn't a reasonable woman. She was certainly unreasonably attractive. I tried not to let that sway me, which was like a hammock deciding a tornado wouldn't sway it.
And driving terrified me; I hadn't done it in a decade. But if I could drive in India, I could drive anywhere. If I drive a tuk-tuk, I could drive anything. And if I said yes, I'd get to spend ten days with her. Would that be enough time to find out who she was, what she wanted, and then convince her to abandon that and want me instead?