Date: Fri, 11 Dec 1998 12:26:20 -0800
Reply-To: "Pollard, Matthew" <Matthew.Pollard@OREADCA.COM>
Sender: Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@vanagon.com>
From: "Pollard, Matthew" <Matthew.Pollard@OREADCA.COM>
Subject: Re: Friday - Geo Metro Race
Content-Type: text/plain
I once drove to Yosemtie in one of these three cylinder wonders. what a
gutless rig. There was two of us and had 4 10,000 square inch bags
(climbing gear) in the rig . The rear hatch didn't close, had to use a
bungy. But we got something like 46 mpg! It may be a gutless POS, but it
doubles the mpg of my 84 weekender!
ok, back to the grind... man o man working sucks. I just entered the working
world in july and it sucks! Time to head back to school!
-Matthew
happy friday!
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Kevin Mikkelson [SMTP:kevinm@RED.PRIMEXTECH.COM]
> Sent: Friday, December 11, 1998 12:02 PM
> To: vanagon@VANAGON.COM
> Subject: Friday - Geo Metro Race
>
> A co-worker sent this to me yesterday, I though it was funny until I read
> the last line. I challenged him to a race after work, he and his wife's
> Metro never showed. I guess racing a Vanagon will make some 3-cylinder
> car
> owners apprehensive.
>
> >>> >>> 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 even 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!
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