Yeh, that was awsome, reminded me of my high school days, racing Chevettes
with my 2.5 L s-10.
Bill
'97 SS/T
On Tue, 20 Oct 1998, Bridges, Bruce wrote:
> Eric,
> I was hanging on to every word! Good thing the Festiva didnt have that
> constant velocity trans or he wouldnt have missed the shift! Best spank
> story yet!
> BKB
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rekker21@aol.com [mailto:Rekker21@aol.com]
> Sent: Tuesday, October 20, 1998 3:47 PM
> To: dakota-truck@buffnet.net
> Subject: DML: Beware, no dak content, but good racing story
>
>
> My buddy sent me this today!
>
>
> I borrowed my wife's Geo Metro last night. One liter of raw power, 3
> cylinders of asphalt-tearing terror on thirteen-inch rims. It's stock,
> alright, nothing done to it, but it pushes the barely 2000 pounds of metro
> around with AUTHORITY. I'm always catching mopeds and 18-wheelers by
> surprise...
>
> I was headed back from Baskin Robbins with my manly triple-latte cappuccino
> blast ("No Cinnamon, ma'am, I take it BLACK"), when I stopped at a
> streetlight. As the Metro throbbed its throaty idle around me, I sipped my
> bold beverage and wiped the white froth my stiff upper lip. I was minding
> my own business, but then I heard a rev from the next lane.
>
> I turned, made eye contact, then let my eyes trace over the competition.
>
> Ford Festiva -- a late model, could be trouble.
>
> Low profile tires, curb feelers, and schoolbus-yellow paint. Yep, a hot
> rod, for sure.
>
> The howl of his motor snapped my reverie, and I looked back into the
> driver's eyes, nodded, then blipped my own throttle. As I tugged on my
> driving gloves and slipped on my sunglasses (gotta look cool to be fast,
> and I am *damn* cool, hence...), the night was split with the sound of
> seven screaming cylinders...
>
> Then the light turned... I almost had him out of the hole, my three
> pounding cylinders thrusting me at least a millimeter back into my seat, as
> smoke pouring from my front right tire... my unlimited slip differential
> was letting me down! I saw in the corner of my eyes, a yellow snout
> gaining, and I heard the roar of his four cylinders. He slung by me, right
> front wheel juddering against the pavement, and he flashed me a smile as
> his .7 extra liters of motor stretched its legs. I kept my foot gamely in
> it, though, waiting for the CHECK ENGINE light to blink on in the one-gauge
> (no tachometer here!) instrument panel. I saw a glimpse of chrome under his
> bumper, and knew the ugly truth...
>
> He was running a custom exhaust -- probably a 2-into-1 dual exhaust ...
> maybe event cutouts! Damn his hot-rod soul! The old lady passing us on the
> crosswalk cast a dirty look in our boy-racer direction...
>
> Yet still I persisted, with my three pumping pistons singing a heady
> high-pitched song, wound fully out. Though only a few handfuls of seconds
> had passed, we were nearing the crosswalk at the other side of the
> intersection, and I heard the note of his engine change as he made his
> shift to second, and I saw his grin in his rearview mirror fade as he
> missed the shift! I rocketed by, shifting, and nursed the clutch gently in
> to keep from bogging, keeping my motor spinning hot and pulling me ahead,
> now trailing a cloud of stinking clutch smoke. Not ready to give up so
> easily, he left his foot in it, revving, and I heard one wheel
> *almost*chirp as he finally found second and dropped the clutch. We
> careened over the crosswalk, now going at least 15 miles per hour. A
> bicyclist passed us, but intent on the race as we were, neither of us
> batted an eye.
>
> He pulled slowly abreast of me, and neck and neck, we made the shift to
> third, the scream of motors deafening all pedestrians within a five foot
> circle. He nosed ahead as we passed 30 miles an hour, then eased in front
> of me, taunting, as we shifted into fourth. I was staring up the dual 6"
> chrome tips of his exhaust, snarling, my cappuccino forgotten, as he lifted
> a little to take the next corner.
>
> I saw my opportunity, and counting on the innate agility of my trusty
> steed, I pulled wide into the number two lane and kept my foot buried in
> carpet. Slowly, I inched around him, feeling my Metro roll slowly to the
> left as I came abreast in the midst of this gradual sweeping turn. I felt
> the Geo ease onto its suspension stops, and felt the right rear wheel
> slowly leave the ground - no matter, though, because my drive wheels, up
> front, were pulling me through the corner, and around the Festiva ...
>
> The Ford driver beat his wheel in rage as my wife's car eased past him on
> the outside, my P165/85R13's screaming in protest, as we raced to the next
> light. We coasted down, neck-and neck, to the red light. I tightened my
> driving gloves, ready for another round, when this WIMP in the next car
> meekly flipped his turn signal and made a right. Chevy (Suzuki) superiority
> reigns!!!
>
> I drove off sipping my masculine drink, awash in my sheer virility, looking
> for other unwitting targets.... Perhaps a Yugo, or maybe even a Volkswagon
> Van!
>
> HEHE
> Eric
>
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