Yea, someone posted this back a few years when my boy was living here and he was even driving a Geo Metro. We laughed for months. They are 1.0 though. Max
--- In diesel_mercedes@yahoogroups.com, "ygmir111" <ygmir111@...> wrote:
>
> BBBWWWHAHAHAHAAH
>
> Wonderfully written...........even in my state of flu induced haze, I'm
> ROFLMAO...........
>
> Thanks Max!!
>
> Henry
>
>
>
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "max_stemple" <jasperezra@...>
> To: <diesel_mercedes@yahoogroups.com>
> Sent: Tuesday, November 29, 2011 9:36 AM
> Subject: [diesel_mercedes] Re: Drag racing in a 240D
>
>
>
>
> --- In diesel_mercedes@yahoogroups.com, "Chip" <czulli@> wrote:
> >
> > Max,
> >
> > I can't use a 240 for drag racing Max.
> >
> > Chip
> > Houston
> > I guess you must of missed this story. Max
> "I took a ride in my venerable old '83 Mercedes 240D last night. 2.4 liters
> 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 hotrod 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 Volkswagen
> Van! ...Courtesy of Mark Shilling."
>
>
> Hey, mines a 4-spd, too, Max
>
>
> W
>
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