They are not really this slow. Max
I took a ride in my venerable old '83 Mercedes 240D last night!
I took a ride in my venerable old '83 Mercedes 240D last night. Two
point four litres of raw power, 4 cylinders of asphalt-tearing terror
with 67 rompin stompin horse power at my beck and call. It's stock,
all right, nothing done to it, but it pushes the 3200 pounds of German
engineering 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 "D" rattled 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.
Geo Metro -- 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 (Rattle Rattle!!).
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 four pounding cylinders thrusting
me at least a millimeter back into my seat, as smoke pouring from
exhaust pipe... I'd let it sit and idle too long! I saw in the
corner of my eyes, a yellow snout gaining, and I heard the roar of his
three cylinders. He slung by me, right front wheel juddering against
the pavement, and he flashed me a smile as his gasoline powered 1.1
liters of motor stretched its legs. I turned off my AC to gain 10%
more power and kept my foot gamely in it. Then I saw a glimpse of
chrome under his bumper, and knew the ugly truth... He was running a
custom exhaust -- probably a 1.5-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 four pumping pistons singing a steady, deep, diesel
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! 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. I
was waiting for the first dot on the speedometer to tell me to shift
(no tachometer here!). Shifting, I nursed the clutch gently to keep
from bogging, keeping my motor spinning hot and pulling me ahead, now
trailing a cloud of stinking clutch smoke, no that's diesel exhaust
again... He pulled slowly abreast of me, and neck and neck, I shifted
into third at 38 MPH - a little early, but better safe than sorry.
The scream of motors deafening all pedestrians within a five foot
circle. He nosed ahead as we passed 42 miles an hour, then eased in
front of me, taunting, as he shifted into fourth. I decided to keep
my car in third, counting on the ability to pump out the power at
higher speeds and lower gears. 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 German Diesel roll slowly to the left as I came
abreast in the midst of this gradual sweeping turn. I felt the front
start to push a little, so I added more power only to realize that was
all I had! But, I saw the right rear wheel lift on the Metro and
realized he had reached his limit! Slowly I gained on him through the
outside of the turn passing him with ease!!!
The Metro driver beat his wheel in rage as my car eased past him on
the outside, my P175/R14'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. MB
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!
Courtesy of Mark Shilling
