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I
took a ride in my venerable old '83 Mercedes 240D last
night!
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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...
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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.
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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.
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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...
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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...
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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.
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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...
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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.
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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!!!
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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!!!
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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.
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