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As I sit behind the wheel, I can feel the cool night air through the open window. The whole car shakes with each firing of each cylinder from the big-block V8. The high-lift cam engine barely stays alive at idle. Each cylinder firing sounds almost like it’s last one. There is just enough inertia in the flywheel to turn the crankshaft enough for the next cylinder to fire.
The two banks of header exhausts consolidate on each side and exit just below the rocker panels. There is a radio in the car, but it’s turned off, as you could never hear over the engine’s slowly beating heart.
A couple of quick punches of the accelerator turns a barely beating heart to an ear-splitting roar and then back to the beating heart.
I push in the clutch and push the gear shit forward. The Hurst shifter clicks into first. The headlights give a preview of the road ahead.
Down goes the accelerator and out comes the clutch. The engine roar returns with a vengeance. I am slammed back into the seat. In any other situation, the sound would be painful, but not now. Undoubtedly, the rear wheels are emitting the mournful wail of banshee and the back end is engulfed in the smoke of burning rubber.
Barely a second has passed and the tach is already redlined. Down with the clutch, up with the gas, back goes the shifter, out with the clutch and down on the gas. Now the car starts to pick up some real speed.
Again, the tach is redlined and the shit into third is made. More smoke from the rear wheels until their speed matches that of the pavement flowing under the vehicle.
Now the tachometer and speedometer race each other around their respective dials. The dashed white centerline in the road turns into a line of gray. The dashes no loner distinguishable.
The tachometer reaches the end of its travel and bam, the fourth and final gear is engaged. From outside the car observers hear the roar approaching, pass them and fade into the night. The exhausts glow dull red in the dark while fire blast from the exhausts along the rocker panel and past the rear tires.
The tachometer is approaching its limit. This is as fast as the car will go. Small imperfections in the road surface feel like rough potholes.
What a glorious feeling. To be in control of such a powerful beast. Going flat out like a bat out of h*** in the middle of the night. It just doesn’t get any better.
Wait, what’s the flashing read light in the rearview mirror?
Posted by Ted at June 7, 2005 8:48 PM