Purple Line stretches into that open gap, eyes fixed miles out so the ripple never catches you blind. Feet hover over the brake, ready to ease in gentleness instead of stomping panic. I’ve watched tailgaters lose it all—one stolen second turns a minor slowdown into three twisted cars, airbags deployed, lives altered. Stupid foot clings to gas until the last instant, making everything worse. A long, long nose eats extra pavement when you ride too close. No highway promises four seconds forever; someone brakes hard for nothing, gaps vanish. For the next 70 years you decide: carry that invisible time cushion like it’s your only defense or trust raw reaction speed and roll the dice. COOPER lays the brutal math—no shortcuts, no guarantees.

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