A few weeks ago, Kristi and I were driving to the World of Wheels car show to get a winter hot rod fix. A friend of ours, who was following us to the convention center, was driving his 6-speed 2001 WS6 Trans Am. His car benefits from a stout camshaft, fully-ported heads, headers, and big pipes with no cats. It was a Friday, and it was getting late and traffic was starting to thin.
It was obvious that he was feeling frisky, so when we got to an open, flat stretch of road, I changed lanes to get along side him. Kristi voiced her first concerns at this point, either fearing for her car or my dignity if we were to race, and as usual, I promised not to do anything. Moments later he whacked the throttle and his shiny black car leaped forward. I buried the gas, the car promptly downshifting and pulling clean and strong, overcoming us with the familiar feeling of the seat hard on your back. He stayed in front of us, however, and his lead continued to grow. We let off somewhere near the top of third gear, pissed. Dang.
Up ahead, the traffic lite turned yellow. I turned off the stereo, rolled down the driver's side window so I could hear everything, and lined up beside him, first in line at the light. Definitely feeling some doubt at this point, but no way to weasel out of this race.
Despite Kristi's best efforts to convince me not to race, I stalled the car to about 4 lbs on the factory boost gauge. The opposing lite turned yellow, and just at that moment, the hard-as-a-hockey-puck passenger side tire began to spin. The tire began to spin more furiously, so I tried to feather the throttle to get the wildly spinning tire under control. Then the green came on, so I gave up on any hope of hooking up and released the brake like I was dropping the clutch, matting the pedal simultaneously. Better to go down in a cloud of smoke than be left standing at the light, I figured. Trans Am dude, admittedly inexperienced, performed the textbook street launch - he rolled out gently and then hammered the gas, his car standing up and screaming ahead. Our huge cloud of smoke hovering in the air behind us was testament to our pitiful launch, but at least Trans Am dude (and everyone behind us) knew we made a go of it. Oh well. I guess we shouldn't be picking fights with our daily driver anyway. Next time we'll bring out some heavier metal.
It was obvious that he was feeling frisky, so when we got to an open, flat stretch of road, I changed lanes to get along side him. Kristi voiced her first concerns at this point, either fearing for her car or my dignity if we were to race, and as usual, I promised not to do anything. Moments later he whacked the throttle and his shiny black car leaped forward. I buried the gas, the car promptly downshifting and pulling clean and strong, overcoming us with the familiar feeling of the seat hard on your back. He stayed in front of us, however, and his lead continued to grow. We let off somewhere near the top of third gear, pissed. Dang.
Up ahead, the traffic lite turned yellow. I turned off the stereo, rolled down the driver's side window so I could hear everything, and lined up beside him, first in line at the light. Definitely feeling some doubt at this point, but no way to weasel out of this race.
Despite Kristi's best efforts to convince me not to race, I stalled the car to about 4 lbs on the factory boost gauge. The opposing lite turned yellow, and just at that moment, the hard-as-a-hockey-puck passenger side tire began to spin. The tire began to spin more furiously, so I tried to feather the throttle to get the wildly spinning tire under control. Then the green came on, so I gave up on any hope of hooking up and released the brake like I was dropping the clutch, matting the pedal simultaneously. Better to go down in a cloud of smoke than be left standing at the light, I figured. Trans Am dude, admittedly inexperienced, performed the textbook street launch - he rolled out gently and then hammered the gas, his car standing up and screaming ahead. Our huge cloud of smoke hovering in the air behind us was testament to our pitiful launch, but at least Trans Am dude (and everyone behind us) knew we made a go of it. Oh well. I guess we shouldn't be picking fights with our daily driver anyway. Next time we'll bring out some heavier metal.
