OutRun In Real Life – From Day Dreaming To Reality
Well, hello there!
Since I love OutRun so damn much, I decided to do something a little different — and very silly — for the blog.
Basically, I’ve taken what could be a perfectly normal day in real life and turned it into an OutRun-inspired adventure, using edited pictures from one of the most common Norwegian newspapers. 😂
I know it’s silly. I know some of you might hate it. And yeah, there’s even a bit of AI involved too…
But don’t take any of this seriously. Just consider it some good old-fashioned weekend slop made for a laugh. 😂
Enjoy the ride! 🏎️💨🌴
It Will Be A Fine Day Today…
When we woke up this morning, we had one goal: go on a trip, do some racing, do some shopping, and somehow make it back home — the place we like to call GOAL.
What you guys probably didn’t know is that my wife calls me Out, and I call her Run.
We’re a perfect match, they say.
Well… what people don’t know is that I often scream “RUN!” while she screams “OUT!”
Put the two together and you get…
OUT… RUN! 🏎️💨😂
Coincidence? I think not.
Tour The Fjords…
Driving in Norway can either be a wonderful adventure or a fucking nightmare. Driving a Ferrari in Norway, though? That’s fun as hell… well, right up until you scrape the bottom of the damn thing because the road suddenly looks like it survived an artillery strike.
Keeping to the speed limit is actually pretty easy most of the time. Twisty roads, potholes, bumps, tractors, tunnels and whatever else Norway decides to throw at you usually make sure of that.
But then…
You spot it.
That tiny, beautiful stretch of straight road.
And, in good old OutRun tradition, there’s only one thing to do:
PEDAL TO THE METAL! 🏎️💨
Unfortunately, the coppers know this too.
Within seconds they’re behind you like a fly on a pile of poop — flashing lights, sirens and the whole bloody circus. 🚔🚨
They’ll do absolutely everything to catch a speeder.
And suddenly our relaxing little morning shopping trip has turned into OutRun: Norwegian Police Edition. 😂
Pulled Over, A ticket and What Looks Like A Rainhat…
Well… the coppers got me.
It wasn’t for lack of trying, though. They chased us through two bloody counties, while the Ferrari did exactly what a Ferrari is supposed to do: GO LIKE FUCK. 🏎️💨🚔🚨
On the bright side, I finally got to properly test the car in every imaginable Norwegian weather condition. Dry roads? Check. Rain? Check. Snow? Check. Roads that looked like they had been bombed during the war and never repaired? Absolutely.
By the time the police finally caught us, the Ferrari was half-filled with snow, I was grinning like an idiot, and poor Run was soaking wet, freezing cold and looking at me with the kind of expression that suggested my life expectancy had just dropped dramatically.
Then came the ticket.
A BIG one.
The policeman handed it over, Run looked at the amount, looked at me, looked back at the ticket… and completely lost her shit.
“OUT! OUT! OUUUUUT!”
I calmly looked at her and replied:
“Yeah, yeah… Run, Run.”
Apparently, this was NOT the correct answer.
Run was mad.
Very mad.
Actually, forget mad. At this point I think the police were no longer there to arrest me for speeding — they were there to protect me from my wife.
And then things got even worse.
You see, Run had to pay the ticket.
Why?
Because after all that racing, drifting, snow, rain, police sirens and two counties worth of OutRun…
…I suddenly realised I’d forgotten my fucking wallet at home.
Run slowly turned towards me.
I smiled.
“So… shall we head back to the finish line?”
Judging by her face, I think I was about to reach the GAME OVER screen instead. 😂🏎️💀
Going To Run’s Favorite Place, The Cabin…
There was simply only ONE thing left to do.
I had to get Run back into a good mood.
Flowers? Nope.
Chocolate? Not a chance.
A romantic dinner? Fuck that.
There was only one possible solution to a situation this serious:
TO THE CABIN WE GO! 🏎️💨🏔️
I promised Run I would behave this time and drive nicely up the mountain.
And I did!
For about three minutes.
Our cabin feels like it sits roughly 8,000 metres above sea level, somewhere between Mount Everest and the fucking moon, but in reality it’s just shy of 1,000 metres.
Still, the roads up there are glorious.
Wide roads. Open roads. GOOD roads!
Not the pothole-infested goat tracks disguised as roads that we have back home on the west coast.
And there we were…
Out & Run.
Ferrari.
Roof down.
Mountain ahead.
Common sense left somewhere about 20 kilometres behind us.
There was only one thing to do.
PEDAL. TO. THE. FUCKING. METAL. 🏎️💨💨💨
No coppers in sight. No flashing lights. No sirens. Nothing!
I drove like I had never driven before.
Run, meanwhile, was hanging on for dear life and repeatedly screaming:
“OUT! OUT! OUT!!!”
As always, I calmly looked over and replied:
“Run, Run, Run…”
For some strange reason, this still wasn’t improving her mood.
Then we finally approached the cabin…
And that’s when I saw them.
An ambulance and TWO FUCKING POLICE CARS parked outside our cabin. 🚑🚔🚔
My brain immediately went into emergency mode.
THEY FOUND US!
How the hell did they know we were coming here?!
Had they followed us?
Was there a helicopter?
A roadblock?
Had Run secretly grassed me up?
There was no time to think.
Just as we turned onto the dusty gravel road leading up to the cabin, I did the only logical thing any responsible Ferrari owner would do when seeing two police cars waiting outside his destination…
I FUCKING FLOORED IT.
The Ferrari launched forward, kicking up sand, stones, dust and approximately six tonnes of Norwegian mountain gravel behind us.
Run screamed:
“OUT!!!”
I screamed:
“RUN!!!”
And suddenly it all made perfect fucking sense.
They wanted my money.
They wanted my licence.
They probably wanted the Ferrari.
They might even want my soul.
And judging by how this day had gone…
THE FUCKERS PROBABLY WANTED MY LOVELY RUN TOO! 😂🏎️💨🚔🚑
There was absolutely no way I was giving them Run.
The wallet, though?
They could have that.
It was still at fucking home anyway.
Gas Is More Expensive Now Pr Litre Than Run At The Mall…
Run had vanished.
Completely.
Gone.
Disappeared without a trace.
She had probably fled the country, changed her name and entered witness protection after spending an entire day in a Ferrari with me.
There was, however, a slightly bigger problem…
I NEEDED PETROL.
And, as you might remember, my fucking wallet was still sitting safely at home.
No Run.
No wallet.
No petrol.
No fucking chance of getting home.
There was only one person left on this planet who could save me.
MUM.
After all, I’m still Mumma’s golden boy. ❤️
Unfortunately, as always, getting hold of Mum proved more difficult than contacting the International Space Station.
I tried everything.
Phone calls.
More phone calls.
Shouting.
Smoke signals.
I briefly considered setting fire to the Ferrari and hoping she would notice the smoke from home.
Nothing worked.
So, as a final desperate attempt, I sent her an SMS.
INSTANT REPLY.
Of course.
I explained the situation calmly and responsibly:
“Hi Mum. I need about half a million kroner to fill the Ferrari so I can get home.”
Apparently, she was in an unusually good mood that day — only God knows why — because a few moments later…
600,000 NOK arrived in my account.
Along with a message:
“Buy yourself something to eat on the way home too, but remember: don’t spend it all on sweets and beer.”
I’m a grown man driving around Norway in a Ferrari, running from the police, my wife has apparently abandoned me somewhere in the mountains, and Mum is still worried I’m going to spend all my pocket money on candy and beer.
Fair enough.
She knows me well.
So there I stood at the petrol station.
Alone.
Abandoned.
Wanted by half the Norwegian police force.
600,000 kroner richer.
And enough money for approximately one full tank, a hot dog and three gummy bears.
But there was one enormous piece of good news…
Mum never asked where Run was.
Thank fuck for that.
Because at this point…
I HAD ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKING IDEA. 😂🏎️⛽💸
I Went For Food, And A Handbrake…
With the Ferrari finally tanked up and Mum’s emergency fortune burning a hole in my bank account, I was ready to face the most expensive thing known to mankind.
No, not Ferrari servicing.
No, not speeding tickets.
Something far, FAR worse…
THE NORWEGIAN GROCERY SHOP. 💸💀
I ran inside, grabbed a trolley and immediately started filling it with all the essential food groups.
Candy.
Beer.
More candy.
More beer.
You know… proper nutrition.
Things were going surprisingly well until I reached the dairy section and made the catastrophic financial decision to buy one carton of milk.
BEEP.
And there it was.
Budget blown.
Mum’s 60,000 kroner was gone.
I sadly started pushing my trolley towards those bloody automatic self-checkout thingies when suddenly…
THUMP!
CRAAAAASH!!!
Glass shattered.
People screamed.
An alarm started howling.
Someone shouted something.
Total fucking chaos.
My first thought was:
“Thank God, someone else is having a worse day than me.”
Then I got closer to the checkout…
And there it was.
MY FUCKING FERRARI.
Apparently, the poor thing had grown tired of waiting outside and decided to come inside and help Daddy carry the groceries.
Through the fucking window.
WTF, MAN?!
I stared at the Ferrari.
The Ferrari stared back at me.
Well… the headlights did.
Then it hit me.
THE HANDBRAKE.
I had forgotten the fucking handbrake.
Again, sirens could be heard in the distance.
🚔🚨🚔🚨🚔
Naturally, the cops arrived.
And of course, by this point in the day, they knew both me and the car on a first-name basis.
One copper walked through the shattered entrance, looked at the Ferrari, looked at me and sighed:
“Ferrari… Out…”
I panicked.
I had absolutely no idea what to say.
I pointed at the car.
“Ferrari!”
Then I pointed at him.
“Copper!”
Then, for reasons even I don’t understand, I just stood there stuttering:
“Ferrari… copper… Ferrari… handbrake… milk… beer… candy…”
There was a long silence.
The copper looked at me.
I looked at the copper.
The Ferrari was halfway through the grocery store.
And my trolley contained enough sugar and alcohol to keep a small village going through Christmas.
Then something absolutely unbelievable happened.
For the first fucking time today…
THE COP BELIEVED ME.
It was an accident.
I had forgotten the handbrake.
I needed groceries.
And apparently beer and candy were now considered mitigating circumstances.
Finally!
A copper who understood me. 😂
Now I just had to find Run, get the Ferrari out of the supermarket and somehow explain to Mum why I needed another 60,000 kroner for milk.
I Decided To Bring An Excavator With Me…
The second I got out of the grocery shop, the search for Run began.
I looked everywhere.
Behind the shop.
Around the petrol station.
Up the road.
Down the road.
Under a few suspicious-looking bushes.
Nothing.
WHERE THE HELL WAS RUN?!
Then I started thinking…
After everything that had happened today — the speeding, the police chase, the ticket, the snow, the rain, the cabin, the ambulance, more police, Mum, the petrol station and finally a Ferrari crashing through a fucking grocery store — there was really only one logical explanation.
Run had decided to crawl under a rock and stay there until life returned to normal.
Fair enough.
The problem was finding the correct rock.
Luckily, I’m a good husband.
And every good husband knows his wife’s favourite rock.
There was just one tiny problem.
It was fucking enormous.
Luckily, the Ferrari was already repaired after its little grocery-shopping adventure.
You’re probably wondering how much it costs to repair a Ferrari after driving it through a supermarket.
Apparently…
ONE CAN OF WD-40 AND A WINDOW CLOTH.
Both were conveniently included in the Ferrari service kit in the glove compartment.
Italian engineering, baby! 🇮🇹🏎️
Two sprays of WD-40, a quick wipe with the cloth and she looked brand fucking new.
With the Ferrari sorted, I headed down to the local Handy Manny shop because I needed something slightly bigger than a jack to lift Run’s rock.
An excavator.
I walked into the shop and immediately spotted a bloke called Ronny hiding behind the counter.
I have absolutely no idea why he was hiding from me.
People had been doing that a lot today.
Anyway, Ronny was incredibly helpful and let me borrow an excavator.
Best of all?
IT COST ME NOTHING!
Finally!
Something in Norway that didn’t require Mum to transfer another 60,000 kroner.
So naturally, I hooked a massive trailer carrying an excavator onto the back of my freshly WD-40-repaired Ferrari.
Because apparently this is what Ferraris are for now.
🏎️━━🚜
Off I went.
Ferrari in front.
Excavator behind.
Candy and beer safely secured.
Not a single sensible decision anywhere in sight.
Eventually, I arrived at Run’s favourite rock.
I unloaded the excavator, fired it up and carefully lifted the massive boulder…
And there she fucking was.
RUN.
Curled up underneath it.
I knew it!
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
She looked at the Ferrari.
Then at the excavator.
Then back at me.
I could tell she had questions.
I decided this probably wasn’t the best time to answer any of them.
So I picked her up, put her safely back in the Ferrari, pointed firmly at the passenger seat and said:
“STAY, RUN! STAY!”
Run stared at me in complete silence.
And for the first time all day…
She didn’t scream OUT!
Progress. 😂
Always When I Hurry I End Up In Trouble…
Finally, we were back on the road.
Run was safely strapped into the passenger seat, and after everything I had put the poor woman through, I made her a promise:
“I’m going to drive carefully now. We’re going straight home.”
No racing.
No police.
No excavators.
No supermarkets.
No rocks.
Just home.
And once we got there? Wonderful, amazing sex, followed by candy and beer on the sofa. Hell, I was feeling so romantic that I might even let Run choose a romantic movie afterwards.
Basically, the perfect ending to the perfect day.
There was just one tiny problem…
We weren’t getting fucking home.
What I hadn’t realised was that fuel prices had just shot up dramatically, and apparently half of Norway had decided that enough was enough. In the real world, fuel taxes had indeed become a major political argument that September — but in the increasingly questionable universe of Out & Run, the entire fucking country had apparently decided to settle the matter by getting into their cars and blocking every road in Norway. 😂
And so began what would become our three-day journey home.
Norwegian roads aren’t exactly famous for encouraging Ferrari speeds in the first place.
But 3 KM/H?!
My Ferrari doesn’t even understand 3 km/h.
I think that’s technically classified as parking in Italy.
Everywhere we looked there were cars.
Cars in front of us.
Cars behind us.
Cars beside us.
Cars as far as the fucking eye could see.
The entire country was out protesting from the comfort of their vehicles, presumably while simultaneously burning the petrol they were protesting about having to buy.
Hours passed.
Then a day.
Then another day.
Civilisation slowly began to collapse around us.
We passed abandoned cars.
Broken-down cars.
People wandering between lanes looking like extras from The Walking Dead.
I’m fairly certain we even passed a few poor bastards who had starved to death somewhere around day two.
Probably electric-car owners who couldn’t find a charger.
Meanwhile, our beautiful Ferrari cabriolet was slowly turning into a mobile gas chamber.
The roof was down.
Thousands of cars surrounded us.
And every single one of them seemed to be pumping its exhaust directly into our faces.
The beautiful red interior?
BLACK.
My face?
BLACK.
Run?
BLACK.
Even the fucking candy was starting to taste like diesel.
I looked around at the once-pristine Ferrari interior and nearly started crying.
Run looked at me.
I looked at Run.
She quietly said:
“Out…”
For once, I didn’t answer Run.
I just stared at the dashboard and whispered:
“Look what these fuckers have done to my Ferrari…”
Three days earlier, I’d promised Run sex, candy, beer and a romantic movie.
At this rate, by the time we reached home, we’d be having a shower, oxygen and fucking counselling. 😂🏎️💨
Back Home, Goal We Call it…
I have absolutely no idea who decided to call our home GOAL, but I suspect it might have something to do with the enormous fucking GOAL banner hanging outside our house.
I’m not entirely sure.
Run isn’t either.
At this point, neither of us was questioning anything anymore.
Anyway…
WE WERE ALMOST HOME!
The traffic finally disappeared, the roads opened up, and the sun suddenly popped out from behind the Norwegian mountains.
Beautiful.
The smell of fresh mountain air filled our lungs.
Christmas trees.
Reindeer poop.
A slight hint of Ferrari exhaust.
Ahhhhh… the unmistakable smell of GOAL.
Then we turned the final corner and noticed something slightly strange.
There were people everywhere.
Outside our house.
What the hell?
There were crowds cheering and clapping.
The police were there again, except this time one of the coppers wasn’t holding a speed gun…
He was holding a CHEQUERED FLAG!
🏁
WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON?!
People were cheering.
People were taking pictures.
There were even half-naked ladies waving at us, which I thought was a wonderful touch to the celebrations.
Run did not.
Run was fucking furious.
I quickly looked straight ahead.
“Eyes on the road, Out. Eyes on the fucking road.”
We crossed the line.
GOAL!
I parked the Ferrari and climbed out, only to have some bloke walk over and hand me an absolutely enormous trophy.
🏆
For what?
I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA.
Maybe it was for surviving the trip.
Maybe it was for the police chase.
Maybe it was for driving a Ferrari through a grocery shop.
Maybe it was for towing an excavator with an Italian sports car.
Or maybe it was simply for somehow getting Run back home without her murdering me.
Whatever.
A WIN IS A WIN.
We got cake, congratulations and some rather firm advice that we should probably stay inside for a while.
A few weeks, they said.
Possibly months.
Maybe even years.
All I really understood was that nobody wanted to see Out & Run on Norwegian roads again anytime soon.
And that was it.
What a fucking perfect trip.
10/10.
Would absolutely do it again.
In fact, next time I think we’ll try all five routes home and see what happens.
Although there is one important upgrade I need to make to the Ferrari first…
THE FUCKING STEREO!
Because apparently there are a few obscure little songs I’ve never heard before that might be perfect for our next road trip.
Something called…
MAGICAL SOUND SHOWER.
SPLASH WAVE.
And perhaps, while blasting through the Norwegian countryside with the roof down, Run screaming “OUT!”, me screaming “RUN!”, and half the Norwegian police force chasing us…
…we might even enjoy a little…
PASSING BREEZE. 🌴🏎️💨
Wait…
Out…
Run…
OUTRUN?!
HOLY SHIT.
I think I finally understand what this whole trip was about.
🏁 GOAL! 🏁
THANKS FOR YOUR TIME…
…and remember:
DON’T FORGET THE FUCKING HANDBRAKE. 😂