New 05/03/2006
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 from 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 school bus-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 Volkswagen Jetta!
--
Eric Lehmann
97 Ebony 42k Welded - With the Angels Now so that I don't have to be.
Long Live the Garage Queen !
96 Medium Willow Green Metallic 95k Resurrected, Welded
96 Rosemist 68k Garage Queen in Training, Welded
97 Pacific Green - Parting this one Out
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Maybe it's time to ease up on the medication!! ;-)
Ron Porter
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Truly a riot!!!! I needed that today.
Dave M
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Way too funny! My wife had an automatic Chevy Sprint, the precursor to the
Metro. Used to drive it from Wheaton to St. Louis (and back) at 85 MPH.
Paul L Fisher
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That write up definitely made the subscription price of this list worth
every penny.
Very nicely done Eric!!
Christina
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**Ed Note - Subscription price??? What have I been missing?? We are a pass the hat operation, Christina!***
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I can't take the credit. It's an old story I think I got about 2 years ago and just tripped
across it rummaging through some files. Laughed Hard and wanted to
pass it on, I clipped the Quotes somehow when I pasted it -OOPS
Eric Lehmann (E1)
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No!!!!!
Real Men want their wives to own Metros!! The $$$ saved in operating costs can be better spent on car mods and beer!! ;-)
Ron Porter (wife owns a ’95 del Sol….same difference!!)
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That's just way too funny! Great writing, too...........manly drink....lmao.
Rex in Ft. Worth
'99 SF
Mods
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hahaha... still FAR worth it!!!!
Curt
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Hahahahah! Would have been a worthy adversary for my famous '82 Escort HO wagon. ;-D
Us Festiva owners can't get any respect. 45 mpg though....
http://www.toadlife.net/stuff/forum_stuff/caravan_wm_hi.wmv
Paul
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When the gas crisis hit in about 1979 I was driving a 454 Chevy pickup. It
was great fun in traffic, but got 9mpg city driving. After enduring gas
lines and so forth I managed to trade for a 1600cc Datsun pickup. It was
pretty slow. Little old ladies would run off and leave me at traffic
lights, not realizing I was trying to race with them. I might be able to
get 70mph under the right downhill conditions, but I did get 26mpg city.
bjshov8@comcast.net
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Sometimes we just got to have fun!!!
U.L.