donp

Off-topic but worth it...<p>From an unknown source:<p>I borrowed my wife's Geo Metro last night. One liter of raw power, 3<br>cylinders of asphalt-tearing terror on thirteen-inch rims. It's stock,<br>alright, nothing done to it, but it pushes the barely 2000 pounds of<br>metro around with AUTHORITY. I'm always catching mopeds and 18-wheelers by<br>surprise...<br> <br>I was headed back from Baskin Robbins with my manly triple-latte<br>cappuccino blast ("No Cinnamon, ma'am, I take it BLACK"), when I stopped<br>at a streetlight. As the Metro throbbed its throaty idle around me, I<br>sipped my bold beverage and wiped the white froth my stiff upper lip. I<br>was minding my own business, but then I heard a rev from the next lane.<br> <br>I turned, made eye contact, then let my eyes trace over the competition.<br>Ford Festiva -- a late model, could be trouble.<br> <br>Low profile tires, curb feelers, and schoolbus-yellow paint. Yep, a hot<br>rod, for sure.<br> <br>The howl of his motor snapped my reverie, and I looked back into the<br>driver's eyes, nodded, then blipped my own throttle. As I tugged on my<br>driving gloves and slipped on my sunglasses (gotta look cool to be fast,<br>and I am *damn* cool, hence...), the night was split with the sound of<br>seven screaming cylinders...<br> <br>Then the light turned... I almost had him out of the hole, my three<br>pounding cylinders thrusting me at least a millimeter back into my seat,<br>as smoke pouring from my front right tire... my unlimited slip<br>differential was letting me down! I saw in the corner of my eyes, a<br>yellow snout gaining, and I heard the roar of his four cylinders. He slung by<br>me, right front wheel juddering against the pavement, and he flashed me a<br>smile as his .7 extra liters of motor stretched its legs. I kept my foot<br>gamely in it, though, waiting for the CHECK ENGINE light to blink on in<br>the one-gauge (no tachometer here!) instrument panel. I saw a glimpse of<br>chrome under his bumper, and knew the ugly truth...<br> <br>He was running a custom exhaust -- probably a 2-into-1 dual exhaust ...<br>maybe event cutouts! Damn his hot-rod soul! The old lady passing us on<br>the crosswalk cast a dirty look in our boy-racer direction...<br> <br>Yet still I persisted, with my three pumping pistons singing a heady<br>high-pitched song, wound fully out. Though only a few handfuls of<br>seconds had passed, we were nearing the crosswalk at the other side of the<br>intersection, and I heard the note of his engine change as he made his<br>shift to second, and I saw his grin in his rearview mirror fade as he<br>missed the shift! I rocketed by, shifting, and nursed the clutch gently<br>in to keep from bogging, keeping my motor spinning hot and pulling me<br>ahead, now trailing a cloud of stinking clutch smoke. Not ready to give up so<br>easily, he left his foot in it, revving, and I heard one wheel *almost*<br>chirp as he finally found second and dropped the clutch. We careened<br>over the crosswalk, now going at least 15 miles per hour. A bicyclist passed<br>us, but intent on the race as we were, neither of us batted an eye.<br> <br>He pulled slowly abreast of me, and neck and neck, we made the shift to<br>third, the scream of motors deafening all pedestrians within a five foot<br>circle. He nosed ahead as we passed 30 miles an hour, then eased in<br>front of me, taunting, as we shifted into fourth. I was staring up the dual 6"<br>chrome tips of his exhaust, snarling, my cappuccino forgotten, as he<br>lifted a little to take the next corner.<br> <br>I saw my opportunity, and counting on the innate agility of my trusty<br>steed, I pulled wide into the number two lane and kept my foot buried in<br>carpet. Slowly, I inched around him, feeling my Metro roll slowly to the<br>left as I came abreast in the midst of this gradual sweeping turn. I<br>felt the Geo ease onto its suspension stops, and felt the right rear wheel<br>slowlyleave the ground - no matter, though, because my drive wheels,<br>up front, were pulling me through the corner, and around the Festiva ...<br> <br>The Ford driver beat his wheel in rage as my wife's car eased past him<br>on the outside, my P165/54R13's screaming in protest, as we raced to the<br>next light. We coasted down, neck-and neck, to the red light. I tightened my<br>driving gloves, ready for another round, when this WIMP in the next car<br>meekly flipped his turn signal and made a right. Chevy (Suzuki)<br>superiority reigns!!!<br> <br>I drove off sipping my masculine drink, awash in my sheer virility,<br>looking for other unwitting targets.... Perhaps a Yugo, or maybe even a<br>Volkswagon Van!

Steve S.

I got that one twice yesterday from two different sources

AlexS

...of Stirling Moss and Jim Clark have I read such a riveting and spellbinding account of two great champions dueling on the field of battle. Pehaps this is the start of a new dynasty of motor racing heroics. Who was that Geo pilot?<br>

Simply in Aweee

It puts the battles in Braveheart to shame.

Damon

Great Post!

David

%\<br>

BenB.

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