Special Vehicle Races

The coastline of San Andreas is the nation's unofficial national park, and we need to do everything we can to protect it from lobbying groups of ruthless environmentalists who want to limit our freedom to stage really epic stunt races there. Point to point race for the Blazer Aqua.

A little-known alternative to the traditional night-time bombing raid is hurling 16 fully disposable morons out of the sky on amphibious quad bikes in the middle of the day and hoping for the best. Strap in, it's time to serve. Lap race for the Blazer Aqua.

It takes thousands of years to build up a delicately balanced ecosystem of island-dwelling flora and fauna. And it'll take you roughly one lap of this stunt race to leave pretty much nothing alive except a partially deafened sea-turtle. Lap race for the Blazer Aqua.

Forgotten to have your booster shots? Sporting any open wounds? Got any residual standards of personal hygiene or a functioning sense of smell? If the answer to any of those is 'yes' then this lap race for the Blazer Aqua through the LS River might not be for you. Otherwise, dive in.

What falls faster: 400 pounds of amphibious quad bike, 200 pounds of dough-brained adrenaline junkie, or a mouthful of terror-vomit? You've got ten seconds to freefall towards the Pacific to find out. Spoiler: you aren't going to outpace the vomit. Lap race for the Blazer Aqua.

When you think of water sports, you think of jacking off in the shower, or that time you tried to piss on a Russian spy and got some in your mouth. Time to expand your nautical horizons with this lap race for the Blazer Aqua around Lake Vinewood.

Ah, the things you'll do to earn that promotion. Climb the boss's slippery pole. Get a head with the director. Join the shareholders as they hurl their Rocket Voltics through a lap race over the summit of the Maze Bank Tower. Really, honestly, you'll just climb forever, like the housing market.

You can still remember watching that rocket launch on TV and whispering with excitement 'Mommy, can I be an astronaut?' And when mommy pointed out that you were a 35-year-old morbidly obese junkie living in her basement, you felt that beautiful dream die a little. Well, time to suit up and show them you're never too old or underqualified to burn up on reentry. Point to point race for the Rocket Voltic.

Ever since the acid told you that yellow and black lizard was a corn on the cob, you've known an attractive color scheme when you see one. This time, it's a rocket-propelled super car and 3000 foot drop, but you get the idea: book a place in the ER, and take a bite. Lap race for the Rocket Voltic.

This is no ordinary comedown. Sure, the bright, pulsing lights are there, tapering off to the familiar, migraine-inducing point. But the usual sense of complete disorientation is accompanied by spine-crushing momentum, and your hands are holding some kind of wheel. Yep, there's only one conclusion: you're coming to your senses on a point-to-point stunt race for the Rocket Voltic. Good luck - you'll need it.

Sometimes, it's only when we strip things back to basics that we discover who we really are. Take this finely tuned, perfectly simple speed circuit for the Rocket Voltic, for example: it's only when you're halfway round the last lap, fighting the urge to black out, and some asshat spins you out into fiery oblivion, that you discover how questionable your basic decision making is. Baby steps.

When it comes to using the spaceship part that's been welded to the back of your open-top super car to boost you around a loop-the-loop the size of a skyscraper, subtlety is everything. Lap race for the Rocket Voltic.

Since the first caveman jumped off a cliff in a futile bid to get laid, man has dreamed of flight. The perfect freedom, the solitude, the silence. Well, now that dream is real. Only you're strapped into the love child of a super car and a space shuttle, there's 15 other grinning lunatics on every side of you, and all you can hear are explosions and screams. So quite a bit better, if anything. Lap race for the Rocket Voltic.

Like your pa always said: when the floodwaters come, you're the kind of human skid mark no one is going to miss. But where would you rather be on judgment day? Swept out to sea with nothing but a posing pouch full of regrets? Or racing, jumping and flying a muscle car through the LS Storm Drain, just a couple of seconds ahead of the tide? Lap race for the Ruiner 2000.

Moving from the Land Act Reservoir to central LS faster than an outbreak of typhoid, this is a race for anyone who enjoys watching the competition hop neatly over an obstacle and straight into a death spiral, or glide gracefully into a toxic lake. Use every trick in the book to get your Ruiner 2000 to the end of this point to point race.

The jumps, the lifts, the swoops, the glides: this is beauty, this is technique, this is majesty. If pneumatic, flying cars had been around when they invented ballet, it'd have been a toss-up between this and the dudes in tights. Lap race for the Ruiner 2000.

This isn't just a race: it's a mission. Break out the leather jacket and the chest wig, and get ready for a series of improbable stunts, sexual conquests, and technology so smart there's no good reason why it hasn't stolen your job. Lap race for the Ruiner 2000.

Face it, you only watch horse racing to see if anyone falls off and breaks their neck. So why not raise the stakes a little? Jumping, hopping and parachuting two tons of modified muscle car from one precarious, obstacle-filled ledge to another 1000 feet above the city seems like the logical next step. Point to point stunt race for the Ruiner 2000.

If gliding a hi-tech prototype muscle car over a mile of open country and onto a small platform isn't building up transferable skills, then what is? There's a reason San Andreas produces more drone pilots than any other state - and it's called investing in people. Lap race for the Ruiner 2000.

How can you prepare for a fast-paced journey through an obstacle filled death-tube? Well, think back to that emergency colonoscopy you had to pretend you didn't enjoy. Turns out you're set. Lap race for the Ruiner 2000.

Ah, the San Andreas coastline. Whether you're driving along it, surfing its waves, soaring above its mountains, or doing all the above without ever leaving the comfort of your flying sports car - there's nothing quite like it. Lap race for the Deluxo.

Raton Canyon is the kind of beautiful, rugged terrain that'll make any red-blooded American reach for their climbing boots and fishing gear. Or a bucket of Sprunk and the keys to their flying car. Either way, the land of the free is calling. Lap race for the Deluxo.

The national anthem has played, the eagle has won the flag eating contest, and the whole stadium is on its feet waiting for the all-American finale: you and your idiot friends doing a low-level flyover in your levitating sports cars. Oh say can you see... Lap race for the Deluxo.

An edible-fueled night in central Los Santos can be a confusing experience. Just try to remember: when your car smoothly takes off and starts flying, that's every bit as real as the psychedelic tunnels and rings of fire. You can hyperventilate all you want - only the finish line is bringing this to an end. Lap race for the Deluxo.

Every pro racer in San Andreas knows that special feeling when the track tilts over to a vertical drop and you're suddenly making rapid progress out of the stratosphere. Well this is just like that, except after a while there's no track, and your landing pad is the ocean. Keep your finger on submersible mode. Point to point race for the Stromberg.

As the water creeps up the windshield and an underwater labyrinth strewn with naval mines gradually reveals itself, try to remember three things. First, this is not a nightmare. Second, every moment of paralyzed terror is a moment off your lap time. And third, press the submersible button. Right now. Lap race for the Stromberg.

Fair warning. If you've ever had bad calamari, this one is probably not for you. Lap race for the Stromberg.

Tricky things, jetpacks. One minute you're soaring over the summit of Mount Chiliad, the next you're strafing into a cliff face with only some canisters of rocket fuel and the promise of massive bragging rights to cushion the blow. Lap race for the Thruster.

As any commuter will proudly tell you, the survival rate in a Los Santos road tunnel at rush hour is the lowest in the civilized world. In fact, it could only get lower if every road-raging maniac ditched their car and used a high-powered jetpack instead. But of course, that would never happen. Lap race for the Thruster.

Signs you've finally taken your place in the one percent: the soft neon glow of the city beneath you, the Vinewood sign shining down from the hills, the reservoir gleaming in the moonlight, the roar of 1000lb of thrust strapped to your back, the prospect of a horrifying mid-air collision. Welcome to the high life. Lap race for the Thruster.