Cliff notes are at the bottom if you've got better things to do.
Let me start off by stating that the following story doesn't really have much to do with the cars, their respective power, or simply physics in general. It does, however, include some stereotyping which a few of you might enjoy. I've got nothing against C5 Vettes or their owners in general; I simply encountered an ignorant turd who knows nothing about his car except for what it says in the brochure. It's lengthy for two reasons: I'm a wordy, long-winded jackass and I feel it's necessary to attempt to convey the emotional aspect in order to appreciate the story. Additionally, I don't typically post in here, but this section seems slower than it used to be these days (had to make a new account) so here's my attempt to keep 'er movin'.
This road to redemption goes back roughly two years. I'm driving a Focus RS (stock at the time) with my gf shotgun down the main road through town when I catch a red light. At this point, I'm the first car in the middle lane. About 1/8 mile ahead, the right lane turns into a "turn only" situation. Everyone knows this by now so anyone who intentionally goes into that lane is either turning or planning to slingshot around the people stopped at the light. Ergo, I always keep an eye trained on my side mirror for any knob shiner thinking they're going to pull a fast one on me. Wouldn't you know it, a black C5 convertible, top down, pulls up in that lane. Who's driving it? (Enter stereotyping plus some simple observational tidbits.) Typical visor wearing, New Balance rocking, golf clubs in the back, "China Grove" blasting, way too much Just for Men sporting, "I think I'm cool because I have a Corvette", clueless fart face guy. The nail in the coffin is the license plate. Without giving exact detail, it's something to the effect of "Seeeee ya." Now, I appreciate an LS1 just as much as the next guy, but anyone who knows anything about modern cars knows that the slowest version of a C5 vette is going to be a base convertible automatic. The plate confirmed for me that this guy is a putz and needs to be put in his place. So as the light is about to turn green, there's no indication that he's going to take off. Anyone who drives stick (especially a 4-cylinder AWD turbo car with launch control) understands that if something's going to go down, some advanced notice helps tremendously. Well, the light turns green, we both accelerate like normal people and right as I go into second gear, he stomps it. I do the same. Guy jumps out about two cars on me and just hangs there. He's not pulling and I'm not catching him. Thusly, his slingshot maneuver is successful, he's probably so pumped about it that he's achieved his first boner in decades, and I'm left feeling cheated and defeated.
Fast forward to very recently. I'm out for a casual cruise with my chick, but in the Cobra this time. Ran some errands, made a few stops, weather was nice so we took the long way home. We're probably about 4 miles from home when I see a pair of orange corner lights a little ways back in the mirror. Turns out, it's a red C5 convertible, top up. I think nothing of it and continue on my way. Through the course of traffic, the "little red Corvette" creeps by me casually. At that moment, my gf says "Hey! Wasn't that the same license plate on the tool's car when we had the RS?" (That's a direct quote; she has no filter.) I honestly hadn't even noticed until she pointed it out. Sure as shit, same guy, same plate, different car. My mind begins playing back the ^above^ paragraph. We're nearing our turn, but I'm undecided as to whether or not I want to be a grownup and let this guy go. After all, he has no idea I'm the same guy from the Focus. Probably never even realized he barely outran a damn Ford Focus that day anyway. Then he makes up my mind for me. Not only is he ignorant, but he's also arrogant. He pushes his way in and out, changing lanes, no signals, just gaining a car length at a time. Gotta be the first one at the next stoplight as usual! I decide to continue on and see how things develop. I know that I can destroy him in a straight line, but that's not the point. This could be my chance to embarrass him with his filthy tramp sitting right beside him. I'm a few cars behind him at the next light and as soon as we start moving, he's immediately back to cutting in and out of each lane, sometimes causing other drivers to hit their brakes. Now, I've never been the type to go out of my way to race someone, but I made an exception for this guy. Every driver around him is likely calling him names for the way he's driving so maybe by smoking him, I'll give them some sort of closure which justified a race in my mind.
The car slightly ahead and to my right wanted my lane so I slowed, let him in, and then took his old spot in the right lane. Only car in front of me was the red Corvette a few bus lengths up. All I needed was his attention so I rolled into it - maybe to half throttle - in fourth just to catch up and make a little noise as I went by him. The next set of lights are the very same ones from our first encounter only this time, I'm in the left lane while he's in the far right (one that ends...still) and there's some other car in the middle. Adrenaline starts flowing to the point where my left leg is shaking while I have the clutch down. I don't know if he's definitely going to hammer it when the light turns green and I don't want to look like an ass if I lay into it for nothing. I decide that I'm going to leave like a normal person since I don't want to blow the tires off and because I know I can catch him if need be. The light turns green and I proceed as planned. He does the same to my surprise. I get into second gear as he moves into the lane next to me. I run second gear out longer than I normally would just in case. The revs scratch at 3500, we're door-to-door, and he gives her the beans. I admit that in the heat of the moment, I have zero self control. Knowing that if I stand on it, the result will be a harmonious symphony of 2.2 Kenne Bell blower screaming combined with Toyo TQ's yelping for mercy, I do it anyway. So here I am making a scene, got the ass end hanging out and there he is basically just sitting behind the steering wheel looking out the windshield like nothing's happening. The key is, though, that while I was white knuckling it, spinning my life away, he wasn't pulling whatsoever. I fire it into third, hook beautifully, and it was as if he threw out an anchor. Without exaggerating, I'd say 3+ bus lengths by the top of third. Didn't even bother touching fourth. In my mirror, I watch him go from the right lane, across the left, and turn into a neighborhood. That was a very satisfying moment for me to say the least. I giggled periodically the rest of the way home. Did he have any clue what had just happened? I doubt it, but at least he knows that he's not as quick as he thinks and that he got spanked by a lowly Rustang. Turns out, a colleague lives in the same neighborhood and told me the whole family is filled with "douchers" who think their shit don't stink. I asked him to stop over there and politely request that he change his plate to "Sawww ya."
Cliff notes: Exactly the outcome you'd have thought based on the title.
Let me start off by stating that the following story doesn't really have much to do with the cars, their respective power, or simply physics in general. It does, however, include some stereotyping which a few of you might enjoy. I've got nothing against C5 Vettes or their owners in general; I simply encountered an ignorant turd who knows nothing about his car except for what it says in the brochure. It's lengthy for two reasons: I'm a wordy, long-winded jackass and I feel it's necessary to attempt to convey the emotional aspect in order to appreciate the story. Additionally, I don't typically post in here, but this section seems slower than it used to be these days (had to make a new account) so here's my attempt to keep 'er movin'.
This road to redemption goes back roughly two years. I'm driving a Focus RS (stock at the time) with my gf shotgun down the main road through town when I catch a red light. At this point, I'm the first car in the middle lane. About 1/8 mile ahead, the right lane turns into a "turn only" situation. Everyone knows this by now so anyone who intentionally goes into that lane is either turning or planning to slingshot around the people stopped at the light. Ergo, I always keep an eye trained on my side mirror for any knob shiner thinking they're going to pull a fast one on me. Wouldn't you know it, a black C5 convertible, top down, pulls up in that lane. Who's driving it? (Enter stereotyping plus some simple observational tidbits.) Typical visor wearing, New Balance rocking, golf clubs in the back, "China Grove" blasting, way too much Just for Men sporting, "I think I'm cool because I have a Corvette", clueless fart face guy. The nail in the coffin is the license plate. Without giving exact detail, it's something to the effect of "Seeeee ya." Now, I appreciate an LS1 just as much as the next guy, but anyone who knows anything about modern cars knows that the slowest version of a C5 vette is going to be a base convertible automatic. The plate confirmed for me that this guy is a putz and needs to be put in his place. So as the light is about to turn green, there's no indication that he's going to take off. Anyone who drives stick (especially a 4-cylinder AWD turbo car with launch control) understands that if something's going to go down, some advanced notice helps tremendously. Well, the light turns green, we both accelerate like normal people and right as I go into second gear, he stomps it. I do the same. Guy jumps out about two cars on me and just hangs there. He's not pulling and I'm not catching him. Thusly, his slingshot maneuver is successful, he's probably so pumped about it that he's achieved his first boner in decades, and I'm left feeling cheated and defeated.
Fast forward to very recently. I'm out for a casual cruise with my chick, but in the Cobra this time. Ran some errands, made a few stops, weather was nice so we took the long way home. We're probably about 4 miles from home when I see a pair of orange corner lights a little ways back in the mirror. Turns out, it's a red C5 convertible, top up. I think nothing of it and continue on my way. Through the course of traffic, the "little red Corvette" creeps by me casually. At that moment, my gf says "Hey! Wasn't that the same license plate on the tool's car when we had the RS?" (That's a direct quote; she has no filter.) I honestly hadn't even noticed until she pointed it out. Sure as shit, same guy, same plate, different car. My mind begins playing back the ^above^ paragraph. We're nearing our turn, but I'm undecided as to whether or not I want to be a grownup and let this guy go. After all, he has no idea I'm the same guy from the Focus. Probably never even realized he barely outran a damn Ford Focus that day anyway. Then he makes up my mind for me. Not only is he ignorant, but he's also arrogant. He pushes his way in and out, changing lanes, no signals, just gaining a car length at a time. Gotta be the first one at the next stoplight as usual! I decide to continue on and see how things develop. I know that I can destroy him in a straight line, but that's not the point. This could be my chance to embarrass him with his filthy tramp sitting right beside him. I'm a few cars behind him at the next light and as soon as we start moving, he's immediately back to cutting in and out of each lane, sometimes causing other drivers to hit their brakes. Now, I've never been the type to go out of my way to race someone, but I made an exception for this guy. Every driver around him is likely calling him names for the way he's driving so maybe by smoking him, I'll give them some sort of closure which justified a race in my mind.
The car slightly ahead and to my right wanted my lane so I slowed, let him in, and then took his old spot in the right lane. Only car in front of me was the red Corvette a few bus lengths up. All I needed was his attention so I rolled into it - maybe to half throttle - in fourth just to catch up and make a little noise as I went by him. The next set of lights are the very same ones from our first encounter only this time, I'm in the left lane while he's in the far right (one that ends...still) and there's some other car in the middle. Adrenaline starts flowing to the point where my left leg is shaking while I have the clutch down. I don't know if he's definitely going to hammer it when the light turns green and I don't want to look like an ass if I lay into it for nothing. I decide that I'm going to leave like a normal person since I don't want to blow the tires off and because I know I can catch him if need be. The light turns green and I proceed as planned. He does the same to my surprise. I get into second gear as he moves into the lane next to me. I run second gear out longer than I normally would just in case. The revs scratch at 3500, we're door-to-door, and he gives her the beans. I admit that in the heat of the moment, I have zero self control. Knowing that if I stand on it, the result will be a harmonious symphony of 2.2 Kenne Bell blower screaming combined with Toyo TQ's yelping for mercy, I do it anyway. So here I am making a scene, got the ass end hanging out and there he is basically just sitting behind the steering wheel looking out the windshield like nothing's happening. The key is, though, that while I was white knuckling it, spinning my life away, he wasn't pulling whatsoever. I fire it into third, hook beautifully, and it was as if he threw out an anchor. Without exaggerating, I'd say 3+ bus lengths by the top of third. Didn't even bother touching fourth. In my mirror, I watch him go from the right lane, across the left, and turn into a neighborhood. That was a very satisfying moment for me to say the least. I giggled periodically the rest of the way home. Did he have any clue what had just happened? I doubt it, but at least he knows that he's not as quick as he thinks and that he got spanked by a lowly Rustang. Turns out, a colleague lives in the same neighborhood and told me the whole family is filled with "douchers" who think their shit don't stink. I asked him to stop over there and politely request that he change his plate to "Sawww ya."Cliff notes: Exactly the outcome you'd have thought based on the title.
