It had been a busy evening in suburban Chicago. I had spent a better part of the day washing my 2011 GT Mustang and lovingly applying three coats of Meguire’s TechWax to the cars deep ebony finish. Under the florescent lighting, the car sparkled like a black diamond and I was satisfied with the fruits of my labor.
With the exterior detailed, the time had come to address the heart of the beast that resided under the hood. After reaching into the car and gently pulling the release lever, I returned to the front of the car, slid the safety latch to the left and slowly raised the hood. As the angle of the hood changed, light struck the polished supercharger sitting proudly on top of the 5.0 liter engine tucked neatly into the engine bay. If looking closely, a skilled eye would notice the factory headers on the car and the upgraded air intake setup designed flowered the KenneBell blower. Other than the slightly lowered stance and wider tires, there was nothing to hint that this car was nothing more than what Ford had provided straight from the factory.
Having spent so much time detailing the car, the last thing I thought I would do is take the car out or a quick cruise down the road, but as anyone who owns a Mustang knows, when the urge hits to drive the car, you do it. Of course, I had no agenda or particular reason to go out other than to enjoy all of the hard work I had put into the car during the two years that I had owned it.
Opening the door and settling into the drivers seat, I reached up and pushed the small rectangular button on the visor and heard the sound of the metal rollers and coiling springs of the garage door. I turned the key in the ignition and the three inch Magnaflow exhaust system bellowed loudly and served notice to my neighbors. Grabbing the brushed aluminum shifter ball, I put the car ino reverse, eased out on the clutch and rolled gently down the driveway.
Like so many times before, just driving down the street produced interest from many other makes and models of vehicles. In some cases, this interest was expressed in quick revs from cars in the adjacent lane or, on occasion an outright challenge to race from some pitiful individual looking to prove something or showing off for their friends. Now, I usually ignore these types, but on this particular night, something interesting happened. After several failed attempts by other cars to goad me into racing them, I glanced into my rearview mirror and saw something that I had hoped to see at some point in the future, but that I did not expect to see so soon after hitting showroom floors.
Under the glow of the streetlights, I made out the distinct hood adorning the car coming up quickly behind me. With its pillbox windshield opening, misshapen roofl and so-late-90's headlight halos, there was no mistaking GM's overhyped pony car, the ZL1 Camaro.
In factory form, the ZL1 is an impressive piece of machinery, but like so many other cars that have come before, the buyers of such cars get caught up in all the press and message forum talk that they truly believe that their choice of car is going to be superior to anything else they might see on the road. As the red Camaro rolled up next to me, I could tell by the look on the face of the 40-something driver that he had definitely been drinking the GM Koolaid.
Gearing down, you could barely hear its truck-like exhaust note over the road noise generated by the huge tires supporting the two-ton chassis. Had i not already known what i was next to, the gaudy ZL1 badge on the side of the hood cemented that this was, indeed, the king Camaro!
Preparing for what was sure to come next, I geared down and brought my engine RPM's to the sweet spot in the powerband. One, two, three honks and we were off! To my surprise, my car squatted on the Eibach springs and jumped out in front of the Detroit Dreadnaught. Shifting into second gear, I continued to pull ahead! Where was this self-anointed king of the streets? Shifting into third, it was obvious the other car was not gaining any ground, so I took pity on this poor middle-aged soul and pushed in my clutch and shifted into neutral. As expected, the Camaro passed by still at full throttle and the distinctive whine of the supercharged LS V8 could be heard as he disappeared into the darkness ahead.
Satisfied, I turned and headed for home. Sally had done well and it brought a smile to my face knowing that I had easily dispatched what should have been a formidible challenge, but whose hefty weight and over-confident driver had been its downfall. Pulling into the driveway, I eased my car back into its familiar resting place in the garage. As I walked toward the steps leading into the house, I placed my hand on Sally's hood and patted her gently before turning of the lights and heading to bed. As I laid there in bed, I could not help but think of how that poor man in his expensive toy must be tossing and turning in his own bed wondering how a lowly Mustang could have beaten his trophy car. How long would it be before he challenged anyone in it again.
With the exterior detailed, the time had come to address the heart of the beast that resided under the hood. After reaching into the car and gently pulling the release lever, I returned to the front of the car, slid the safety latch to the left and slowly raised the hood. As the angle of the hood changed, light struck the polished supercharger sitting proudly on top of the 5.0 liter engine tucked neatly into the engine bay. If looking closely, a skilled eye would notice the factory headers on the car and the upgraded air intake setup designed flowered the KenneBell blower. Other than the slightly lowered stance and wider tires, there was nothing to hint that this car was nothing more than what Ford had provided straight from the factory.
Having spent so much time detailing the car, the last thing I thought I would do is take the car out or a quick cruise down the road, but as anyone who owns a Mustang knows, when the urge hits to drive the car, you do it. Of course, I had no agenda or particular reason to go out other than to enjoy all of the hard work I had put into the car during the two years that I had owned it.
Opening the door and settling into the drivers seat, I reached up and pushed the small rectangular button on the visor and heard the sound of the metal rollers and coiling springs of the garage door. I turned the key in the ignition and the three inch Magnaflow exhaust system bellowed loudly and served notice to my neighbors. Grabbing the brushed aluminum shifter ball, I put the car ino reverse, eased out on the clutch and rolled gently down the driveway.
Like so many times before, just driving down the street produced interest from many other makes and models of vehicles. In some cases, this interest was expressed in quick revs from cars in the adjacent lane or, on occasion an outright challenge to race from some pitiful individual looking to prove something or showing off for their friends. Now, I usually ignore these types, but on this particular night, something interesting happened. After several failed attempts by other cars to goad me into racing them, I glanced into my rearview mirror and saw something that I had hoped to see at some point in the future, but that I did not expect to see so soon after hitting showroom floors.
Under the glow of the streetlights, I made out the distinct hood adorning the car coming up quickly behind me. With its pillbox windshield opening, misshapen roofl and so-late-90's headlight halos, there was no mistaking GM's overhyped pony car, the ZL1 Camaro.
In factory form, the ZL1 is an impressive piece of machinery, but like so many other cars that have come before, the buyers of such cars get caught up in all the press and message forum talk that they truly believe that their choice of car is going to be superior to anything else they might see on the road. As the red Camaro rolled up next to me, I could tell by the look on the face of the 40-something driver that he had definitely been drinking the GM Koolaid.
Gearing down, you could barely hear its truck-like exhaust note over the road noise generated by the huge tires supporting the two-ton chassis. Had i not already known what i was next to, the gaudy ZL1 badge on the side of the hood cemented that this was, indeed, the king Camaro!
Preparing for what was sure to come next, I geared down and brought my engine RPM's to the sweet spot in the powerband. One, two, three honks and we were off! To my surprise, my car squatted on the Eibach springs and jumped out in front of the Detroit Dreadnaught. Shifting into second gear, I continued to pull ahead! Where was this self-anointed king of the streets? Shifting into third, it was obvious the other car was not gaining any ground, so I took pity on this poor middle-aged soul and pushed in my clutch and shifted into neutral. As expected, the Camaro passed by still at full throttle and the distinctive whine of the supercharged LS V8 could be heard as he disappeared into the darkness ahead.
Satisfied, I turned and headed for home. Sally had done well and it brought a smile to my face knowing that I had easily dispatched what should have been a formidible challenge, but whose hefty weight and over-confident driver had been its downfall. Pulling into the driveway, I eased my car back into its familiar resting place in the garage. As I walked toward the steps leading into the house, I placed my hand on Sally's hood and patted her gently before turning of the lights and heading to bed. As I laid there in bed, I could not help but think of how that poor man in his expensive toy must be tossing and turning in his own bed wondering how a lowly Mustang could have beaten his trophy car. How long would it be before he challenged anyone in it again.
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