[FWDLK] Hot Rodding in the New Millennium
[Date Prev][Date Next][Thread Prev][Thread Next][Date Index][Thread Index]

[FWDLK] Hot Rodding in the New Millennium



 Here's one that all max cube macho Moparites will enjoy!
(Thanks, Brian)
 __________________________________________

 Since my '60 Chrysler 300F was in the shop, 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 P165/54R13'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!



Home Back to the Home of the Forward Look Network


Copyright © The Forward Look Network. All rights reserved.

Opinions expressed in posts reflect the views of their respective authors.
This site contains affiliate links for which we may be compensated.