This is a long one. Hold on.
It's amazing how time can slow down when you have adrenaline coursing through your body. Everything has extreme acuity; the smallest detail becomes monumental.
Sometimes, just sometimes, you have to take the long way home.
Driving down Hampden tonight, I agonized over the decision to pass a slow ancient Volvo (wondering why it was even still on the road), or just stay behind and shoot for fuel economy. Watching the tail of the Volvo in front of me was kind of soothing. It divided the lines like a marching foot soldier; always perfectly even between the lines, following the slight turns and arcs of the road unerringly. I watched this intently, surrounded by the guttural monotone of my exhaust. Hampden seemed to stretch out for miles...
Unfortunately, Hampden is interrupted by stoplights.
As I brought my car to a gentle stop, marveling at my lights as their reflective counterparts grew larger in the rear bumper of the Volvo, I began to focus my attention on the stereo. Surely there was something better to listen to...
Guys like me have a special sense of radar. Most times, a beautiful woman can pass by virtually unnoticed, but a classic car sets off a tingle on the back of your neck like a whispered melody. A soft song that you recognize the rhythm to, but need to listen more closely to pick up the stream of word in your head.
With the stereo forgotten, I looked over to find an '80s model red Ferrari with two passengers; two men about my age. Nice car. Great shape; well preserved. Not unlike Heather Locklear.
When the light turned green, and the Prehistoric Swedish Cream Puff in front of me began its laborious pilgrimage across the intersection, the Ferrari seemed to surge forward. This act did two things to me simultaneously...
I was again struck with awe that such a fine specimen of automotive engineering was in my vicinity. But a wave of adrenaline pulsed through me. How dare this thing show off in front of me like that? Did it think it was superior to me? By its birthright, was it better? I should think not!
With little distance between me and the Volvo, I pressed the accelerator to the halfway mark and closed the gap quickly, passing the Ferrari as it got pinned behind a slower car. As traffic progressed, the headlights of the Ferrari passed behind me and into the other lane, at full throttle, passing me by as I waited patiently to pursue. Calmly, I engaged my turn signal, and made a casual but authoritative lane change behind the Italian Stallion. Lifting my right foot, I slid the gear selector down into 2nd gear and waited for the sweet change in exhaust tone to confirm that the car was in WhoopAss Mode(tm). The deep groan became an eager roar, and I put the pedal to the floor.
60 came quick, and I moved back into the middle lane in order to line up with the Ferrari. No sooner were we close to aligning than the next light turned red. I felt anxious; running me from a stop? Yes, please. I'm'unna show you what Americans know about torque, cah'peesh?
To my left, a current generation Passat pulled up with its only apparent modification being yellow Checker Auto Parts Sale Item foglights. Both the Ferrari and the Passat seemed ready, and I was too.
When my field of vision was awash with green light, I let the throttle pedal down aggressively, warranting a squeal from the drive wheels and allowing both my opponents to get a nose out on me. By the other side of the intersection, I was a half car length ahead. 1 car length. 2. First gear became second and both my opponents gave up, turning into a gas station.
Drugged by the wail of the supercharger and the cacaphony of the exhaust, I kept my foot in it through second gear before finally letting go.
Second gear lets out at about 95mph.
Can't say I've ever run a Ferrari. Can't say I ever expect to again.
But man, what a pretty car.
It's amazing how time can slow down when you have adrenaline coursing through your body. Everything has extreme acuity; the smallest detail becomes monumental.
Sometimes, just sometimes, you have to take the long way home.
Driving down Hampden tonight, I agonized over the decision to pass a slow ancient Volvo (wondering why it was even still on the road), or just stay behind and shoot for fuel economy. Watching the tail of the Volvo in front of me was kind of soothing. It divided the lines like a marching foot soldier; always perfectly even between the lines, following the slight turns and arcs of the road unerringly. I watched this intently, surrounded by the guttural monotone of my exhaust. Hampden seemed to stretch out for miles...
Unfortunately, Hampden is interrupted by stoplights.
As I brought my car to a gentle stop, marveling at my lights as their reflective counterparts grew larger in the rear bumper of the Volvo, I began to focus my attention on the stereo. Surely there was something better to listen to...
Guys like me have a special sense of radar. Most times, a beautiful woman can pass by virtually unnoticed, but a classic car sets off a tingle on the back of your neck like a whispered melody. A soft song that you recognize the rhythm to, but need to listen more closely to pick up the stream of word in your head.
With the stereo forgotten, I looked over to find an '80s model red Ferrari with two passengers; two men about my age. Nice car. Great shape; well preserved. Not unlike Heather Locklear.
When the light turned green, and the Prehistoric Swedish Cream Puff in front of me began its laborious pilgrimage across the intersection, the Ferrari seemed to surge forward. This act did two things to me simultaneously...
I was again struck with awe that such a fine specimen of automotive engineering was in my vicinity. But a wave of adrenaline pulsed through me. How dare this thing show off in front of me like that? Did it think it was superior to me? By its birthright, was it better? I should think not!
With little distance between me and the Volvo, I pressed the accelerator to the halfway mark and closed the gap quickly, passing the Ferrari as it got pinned behind a slower car. As traffic progressed, the headlights of the Ferrari passed behind me and into the other lane, at full throttle, passing me by as I waited patiently to pursue. Calmly, I engaged my turn signal, and made a casual but authoritative lane change behind the Italian Stallion. Lifting my right foot, I slid the gear selector down into 2nd gear and waited for the sweet change in exhaust tone to confirm that the car was in WhoopAss Mode(tm). The deep groan became an eager roar, and I put the pedal to the floor.
60 came quick, and I moved back into the middle lane in order to line up with the Ferrari. No sooner were we close to aligning than the next light turned red. I felt anxious; running me from a stop? Yes, please. I'm'unna show you what Americans know about torque, cah'peesh?
To my left, a current generation Passat pulled up with its only apparent modification being yellow Checker Auto Parts Sale Item foglights. Both the Ferrari and the Passat seemed ready, and I was too.
When my field of vision was awash with green light, I let the throttle pedal down aggressively, warranting a squeal from the drive wheels and allowing both my opponents to get a nose out on me. By the other side of the intersection, I was a half car length ahead. 1 car length. 2. First gear became second and both my opponents gave up, turning into a gas station.
Drugged by the wail of the supercharger and the cacaphony of the exhaust, I kept my foot in it through second gear before finally letting go.
Second gear lets out at about 95mph.
Can't say I've ever run a Ferrari. Can't say I ever expect to again.
But man, what a pretty car.
