And the saga...ends...I hope
So, there I was, outside on a beautiful spring day, noting the change in the dogwoods from flowers to foliage, crusing at 95 in my GTO, Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit," awash in my ears. The tranny hummed a mechanical song beneath my fingertips, comfortably loping in 6th gear.
Life is good when your new house is perfect.
Philip Preston (of "Preston Home Inspections" fame) had given his stamp of approval ("It's one hell of a house, man"), with his wife/gf/squeeze's agreement.
So, from now, it's just getting the title search completed, signing the post-occupancy agreement (they can't leave until June 20th b/c they're building a new house), and closing.
* * *
And on the way back, my first honest-to-goodness "friendly contest". I was on the cell calling Bella when I saw a dual-exhaust mustang cruise up beside me in the fast lane. Dark tint. Sounded mean.
Ordinarily, a 'Stang is nothing to an LS1-equipped car. Ranging from 205-305 horsepower, these inferior pony cars are no match for a Camaro/Firebird/GTO/Vette, with their 300-400 hp. But THIS thing was another animal entirely.
This was a 2003 Mustang Cobra, with the 400 hp supercharged engine. Especially from a rolling start, this guy could eat me for breakfast, because he had me by 50 hp and was 300 lbs lighter than the portly Goat.
Southbound, approaching the 64/75 merge, he waited for me, slowing his 80mph pace down to 70 or so. He wasn't being an ass, revving his engine or weaving. Just waiting. I heard a blip of the throtttle, then another. Ahh...two downshifts. I double-clutched from 6th to 3rd, matching him ratio-for-ratio. We both got in the left lane, behind a semi, me right behind him.
The second we had daylight approaching the 3-lane merge, we both nailed it, him surging ahead, of course, since he knew the exact moment this race would start. We had a half mile of clear left lane, but we needed nothing like that. In an eyeblink, we were at 100, then 110, 120, 125. Thor was like a different animal, a cat unleashed, running towards after the gazelle ahead. There's nothing like the sound of a smallblock at 6000 rpm. I slammed it into 4th, the nose dipping on the clutch in, then rising again as I sidestepped it and nailed the throttle. We lifted at 130, having consumed maybe 10 seconds of real-world time.
I pulled up beside the guy and gave him a big thumbs-up. Nice fella, that Cobra guy.
Life is good when your new house is perfect.
Philip Preston (of "Preston Home Inspections" fame) had given his stamp of approval ("It's one hell of a house, man"), with his wife/gf/squeeze's agreement.
So, from now, it's just getting the title search completed, signing the post-occupancy agreement (they can't leave until June 20th b/c they're building a new house), and closing.
* * *
And on the way back, my first honest-to-goodness "friendly contest". I was on the cell calling Bella when I saw a dual-exhaust mustang cruise up beside me in the fast lane. Dark tint. Sounded mean.
Ordinarily, a 'Stang is nothing to an LS1-equipped car. Ranging from 205-305 horsepower, these inferior pony cars are no match for a Camaro/Firebird/GTO/Vette, with their 300-400 hp. But THIS thing was another animal entirely.
This was a 2003 Mustang Cobra, with the 400 hp supercharged engine. Especially from a rolling start, this guy could eat me for breakfast, because he had me by 50 hp and was 300 lbs lighter than the portly Goat.
Southbound, approaching the 64/75 merge, he waited for me, slowing his 80mph pace down to 70 or so. He wasn't being an ass, revving his engine or weaving. Just waiting. I heard a blip of the throtttle, then another. Ahh...two downshifts. I double-clutched from 6th to 3rd, matching him ratio-for-ratio. We both got in the left lane, behind a semi, me right behind him.
The second we had daylight approaching the 3-lane merge, we both nailed it, him surging ahead, of course, since he knew the exact moment this race would start. We had a half mile of clear left lane, but we needed nothing like that. In an eyeblink, we were at 100, then 110, 120, 125. Thor was like a different animal, a cat unleashed, running towards after the gazelle ahead. There's nothing like the sound of a smallblock at 6000 rpm. I slammed it into 4th, the nose dipping on the clutch in, then rising again as I sidestepped it and nailed the throttle. We lifted at 130, having consumed maybe 10 seconds of real-world time.
I pulled up beside the guy and gave him a big thumbs-up. Nice fella, that Cobra guy.
Comments
Post a Comment