So there I am sitting in Astonomy class, the clock is taking its sweet ass time turning 10:00 pm and I'm scribbling (as I had been for the past hour) stuff about my car; what I'm going to do to it etc. Stuff I always think about.
Boom. Clock hits 10 and I'm the first one out of the class. I hop the railing like it's cool and jog out to my car which is waiting like a well disciplined pit bull in the front parking space of one of the many many rows of cars. I cringe a little bit at the huge dent/scrape/abhorration that was caused by a less vigilant female driver who had backed into me the day before.
No matter, I'm in the bolstered leather and about to breathe some life into the only thing that makes me happy: My coolant spewing, gas vaporizing, child frightening, throbbing man mobile.
I turn the key and blip the gas to blow the dust and spiders and whatever else has congregated out my exhaust pipes and I roar out of the joint completely eclipsing the farting symphony of Uncle Ben's that is my school parking lot.
"Oh man, I've got it bad tonight" I think to myself as I whip the ass end out turning onto the freeway on ramp. I'm gunning it and letting off more than anyone in their right mind ever would just to feel the g forces. I'm doing jumps on Escalades and Tacomas, whatever the hell happened to be next to me at the time got an unwilling earful of my magnaflows.
My exit comes up and I cool it for a while just because this is a pretty busy place and I don't want to get so into it that I get stupid and take out a van filled with born again christians or something. But then a little red hatch drives by with aftermarket exhaust. Forget everything rational I had told myself, this hatch had offended me by merely being there and it was my job to defend America. Yes, you read that right. I truly am an idiot.
I slide up next to him in the turn lane a throw a little rev. I look over and notice that it's a...Dodge? What the hell kind of Dodge is that, I think to myself. The light goes green and we roll out slowly around the corner and then both hit it at about the same time. Hmmm...he wasn't behind me when we let off. Something must be wrong.
We hit the next light and I give him a thumbs up because now I'm in a buddy buddy race mood with an obviously tuned American car. I point forward and he nods and tachs up a little bit. I spin the converter up to 2000 or so and stand on the brake. The Bird sits up a couple inches as the drivetrain loads up and get ready to hook and book. The former of which is sort of a dice roll on whether or not it will happen but it has been known to from time to time.
The light goes green and I put it to the wood, leaving the little horsie a tiny speck in my rearview mirror. Ok, something went wrong and he got out of it. He catches up and we round another corner. He pulls up next to me and I hold up three fingers; apparently the universal sign for the "three honk start". He nods and drops down a gear. Why do I suddenly hear a little whooshing sound?
On the third honk we're both off and I start pulling immediately. When the 2-3 shift comes I pretty much leave him a couple cars back, but I hear a faint blowoff as he bangs the next gear.
We pull up to the next light and do the textbook congratulatory post-race talk, much to my surprise he tells me that there's no Dodge engine in that car at all. He has a 4G63 with a big 16G blowing 8 psi. Turns out that he finished the car only a few hours before we raced and he was out on his shakedown cruise. With more boost it would have been a much different story. We give the thumbs up and go our separate ways. Cool guy and very cool car.
Sorry for the long writeup, but as I said I'm just full of the V8 testosterone tonight.
Boom. Clock hits 10 and I'm the first one out of the class. I hop the railing like it's cool and jog out to my car which is waiting like a well disciplined pit bull in the front parking space of one of the many many rows of cars. I cringe a little bit at the huge dent/scrape/abhorration that was caused by a less vigilant female driver who had backed into me the day before.
No matter, I'm in the bolstered leather and about to breathe some life into the only thing that makes me happy: My coolant spewing, gas vaporizing, child frightening, throbbing man mobile.
I turn the key and blip the gas to blow the dust and spiders and whatever else has congregated out my exhaust pipes and I roar out of the joint completely eclipsing the farting symphony of Uncle Ben's that is my school parking lot.
"Oh man, I've got it bad tonight" I think to myself as I whip the ass end out turning onto the freeway on ramp. I'm gunning it and letting off more than anyone in their right mind ever would just to feel the g forces. I'm doing jumps on Escalades and Tacomas, whatever the hell happened to be next to me at the time got an unwilling earful of my magnaflows.
My exit comes up and I cool it for a while just because this is a pretty busy place and I don't want to get so into it that I get stupid and take out a van filled with born again christians or something. But then a little red hatch drives by with aftermarket exhaust. Forget everything rational I had told myself, this hatch had offended me by merely being there and it was my job to defend America. Yes, you read that right. I truly am an idiot.
I slide up next to him in the turn lane a throw a little rev. I look over and notice that it's a...Dodge? What the hell kind of Dodge is that, I think to myself. The light goes green and we roll out slowly around the corner and then both hit it at about the same time. Hmmm...he wasn't behind me when we let off. Something must be wrong.
We hit the next light and I give him a thumbs up because now I'm in a buddy buddy race mood with an obviously tuned American car. I point forward and he nods and tachs up a little bit. I spin the converter up to 2000 or so and stand on the brake. The Bird sits up a couple inches as the drivetrain loads up and get ready to hook and book. The former of which is sort of a dice roll on whether or not it will happen but it has been known to from time to time.
The light goes green and I put it to the wood, leaving the little horsie a tiny speck in my rearview mirror. Ok, something went wrong and he got out of it. He catches up and we round another corner. He pulls up next to me and I hold up three fingers; apparently the universal sign for the "three honk start". He nods and drops down a gear. Why do I suddenly hear a little whooshing sound?
On the third honk we're both off and I start pulling immediately. When the 2-3 shift comes I pretty much leave him a couple cars back, but I hear a faint blowoff as he bangs the next gear.
We pull up to the next light and do the textbook congratulatory post-race talk, much to my surprise he tells me that there's no Dodge engine in that car at all. He has a 4G63 with a big 16G blowing 8 psi. Turns out that he finished the car only a few hours before we raced and he was out on his shakedown cruise. With more boost it would have been a much different story. We give the thumbs up and go our separate ways. Cool guy and very cool car.
Sorry for the long writeup, but as I said I'm just full of the V8 testosterone tonight.
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