BeerBurner

I watched this street race occur about a year ago, and I suddenly remembered it this morning. It's too good for me not to share...

I was driving back from a friend's house on a road that was three lanes in each direction (Rt. 28 by Dulles Airport, for the few of you who this would actually mean something to...) in my Jetta. We come to a light. I'm the second car in the right lane, behind some Chrysler family sedan. First at the light in the middle lane is a horribly riced-out Civic, and next to it in the left lane is an equally riced Integra. They start throwing revs at each other, and I could tell that they are serious because they roll up their windows. I guess they wanted that extra bit of aerodynamics...

Anyway, the light turns green and they're off! The Integra gets a better launch, and pulls slightly ahead of the Civic, and stays about that far ahead during the duration of the race. But what's in third place? THE REST OF THE TRAFFIC!!!

Despite all of the sound and fury of their fart cans, by the time traffic had accelerated (normally, as traffic is prone to doing) to 60 or so, these two mad street machines were only about 50-75 yards ahead of us!

I dunno... maybe you just had to be there... but still, that was pretty pathetic...

BB.

Blue S2

Ide watch for police in that area! They are very pressed! Our area is FILLED with rice! Its rediculous! HAHA, you ever been by Montgomery College? Its the testing grounds for rice! Anything you wanna see is on display in the parking lot!

Yabo

Hmm kinda like the feeling when you drive an NA, and you come to a redlight, with a minivan behind you, and you make a left onto the main road and redline in each gear up to about 55 mph, and lookback and the minivan is on your ***.

ErichCS

Devon do you double clutch or something? I'm not trying to say my car is faster than anyone else's, i just do have that kinda of experience in mine. usually shifting at 3-3.500 keeps me up with traffic JUST FINE...

EDIT: Nice story BTW!

-Erich

Yabo

Erich, nope, i shift fine. but of course if youve seen my other threads, you would know that i cant give it more than like 3/4 throttle without the engine cutting out completely.. so it takes me a good 4 or 5 seconds to get through first gear to redline.

ErichCS

Makes sense, i wish you luck fixing that. In the meantime watch out for the mini-vans
-Erich

Geo

The best street race is one where nobody gets killed, both idiots get arrested, and their cars are confiscated and scrapped.

Red 944

aw, I thought you were going to say the Chrysler smoked both of them.

BeerBurner

I would imagine he could have, had he actually bothered...

Part of me wishes that I had my dad's Camry V6 (and this is about the only time I'd ever wish for that thing...) because it would have been funny to pull ahead of them, slow down, pull ahead again, slow down again, etc., in a family sedan. Not that I'm into street racing or anything, but still...

Of course, does this really even count as a street race? Let's face it... "racing" typically would involve some sort of speed...

BB.

ERAU-944

LOL

great story. i recall one time i was driving home one night, at a light on international speedway boulevard, next to a riced out CRX. he pulled away as hard as he could (you could really hear that engine laboring out that fart pipe), but i still 'beat' him, driving normally, shifting around 4k. some people just don't get it.

-Michael-

BeerBurner

Yeah, I think I "lost" several "races" last night. There was some guy in a Solara (sp?) who would putt along until someone tried to pass him. Then he'd speed up until he got far enough ahead, slow down, and speed up again when someone tried to pass him. I'll be honest, I was feeling a little frisky so I had some fun with it. I never raced him or anything. I just kept catching up so that he'd get all excited and tear off again. At one point, he pulled next to me and hung out there for a mile. I kept looking over and lauged/rolled my eyes, but since it was night I don't think he saw all of that and just figured that I wanted to race. He takes off, I continue as normal. Sure enough, once he's about twenty yards ahead of me, on come the flashers!

I bet he's telling all of his friends about how he kept pummelling a Jetta left and right.

Childish and immature on my part? Yeah, I'd say so. But then, I was just in that kind of mood last night...

BB.

boostaholic

I "lost" a race to an integra on the highway. Just to make sure I knew he beat me, he cut in front of me and put on his hazards. The sad part is that he didn't beat me by much even though I was doing a steady 70.

Yabo

Okay. ill give my one good story of the month.
Last weekend, went with my 2 friends to a concert near Boston, MA.
I was driving the 89, volvo 740 turbo station wagon with 268000 miles on it. So its after the concert, about 12:30, going home. just before getting back on 146 after going to wendys, a car full of kids pulls up next to me. i think it was a camry or something similar , i dint really pay attention to what it was, but my friend said it was a malibu. but anyway. its some ghetto lookin kid, headband, chains, bball jersey, etc. with his slutty lookin gf in the passenger seat. so he looks at me, and his gf's all like pointing up ahead sayign race. (obviously if they are asking a volvo station wagon to race, they are just hoping to win an easy one. so the light turns green. they go up ahead. my friend is like, do it. of course, i was, but he jus tcouldnt tell cuz of the turbo lag. but we had to turn on the highway right there, and they did too. well anyway. for the next 10 miles or so.. id go about 50, let them wait up for me unitl they were next to me, when they started to race off, i would hit it, and by the time i hit 90 i was a good 50 yards ahead. so id slow down to about 60, theyd continue by me about 80, and not slow down, id hit the gas, and catch up thtem and pass them in about 5 seconds. i gave them the thumbs up with the sarcastic smile, and go back to the speedlimit and off they go.

I swear. nothing is more satisfying then beating losers liek this with my station wagon.

PCinDC

I tend to avoid the immature pissing contest that is street racing. What exactly are you trying to prove?

BB thats hilarious.

I once saw an Integ-rice revving his motor at an old beat up camaro at a stop light. Both cars were second in line at the light. When the Integra revved, the Mulletman decided to rev back, forgetting his car was an automatic. He NAILED the big yellow school bus in front of him.

Street Racing is for tools.

tifosiman

This was going to be a short story about something my cousin Dale once did, but unless I give you some background on him, you probably wouldn't believe the story anyway.

Dale, like myself, was born and raised on a farm, and lived just a couple of miles away from me. He came from a large family with six kids, and he was a year older than I am.

Dale learned to drive and repair vehicles at an early age, thanks to running tractors on the farm, and stealing one for a joyride around the fields every once in awhile when his parents were away. He dropped out of school after the ninth grade, and by the time he was 18, he was making $25 an hour driving a huge dump truck for my dad's excavating business.

One of the first vehicles he owned was an old '64 Chevy pickup that was pretty much stripped of everything except seats and a very powerful engine. Everybody called it the "stump puller" because of its ridiculous amount of torque. Just by punching and letting off the accelerator rhythmically, he could get the front end to hop completely off the ground! This was partially due to some really, really wide rear tires, a pair of Mickey Thompson 50-series that were wider than they were tall, not something commonly seen in the 70's.

He did a lot of crazy **** in that pickup. One day, I was driving home in my lime green Pontiac Ventura when I spotted him nearly half a mile away, driving in my direction on a long, straight stretch of road near my house. He spotted me too, and we both punched it and roared toward each other.

Now, I had been working with him an entire summer that year, both of us driving dump trucks on a project on my dad's farm. We played a lot of "chicken" with the dump trucks while hauling dirt, and were each familiar with the other's driving habits.

Anyway, as we approached each other on the street that day, each doing a good 85 MPH or so in a 30 zone, I steered over into the oncoming lane, and he did the same. At the last second, we both jumped back into our respective right lanes as we went flying by the local Minit Mart in opposite directions. If anyone was watching, they probably **** themselves.

One day, Dale picked up a friend of mine and I in the "stump puller" and we drove off to a nearby neighborhood to get stoned. On the way out of this neighborhood, the road went up a fairly steep and isolated hill, a good spot for doing burnouts. Dale wound it up, dropped the clutch, and the Mickeys filled the valley with smoke as the pickup roared slowly up the hill. We were laughing like hell as the Chevy actually slowed down and stopped moving forward, even with the accelerator to the floor and the tires still spinning. When Dale finally let off, the truck started sliding backwards and sideways on a trail of hot rubber as he jumped on the brakes. We had liquefied the Mickey Thompson 50s! I don't know how much longer that pair of tires lasted.

Now, when we were teenagers, we spent a lot of time in cars. It was always a good way to get away from your parents and exercise what freedom you had. In this atmosphere, Dale understood this rule: He who controls the set of power window switches controls the world.

Dale's stump puller didn't have power windows, but his next two cars, a '67 Chevy Impala fastback coupe and a big four-door T-Bird, about a '70 or so, both did.

Dale would wield control of the power windows like a fascist dictator, to punish or embarrass his passengers.

One weekend, Dale, his girlfriend Tammy, my friend Greg and I decided to take a road trip to Lion Country Safari, one of those "drive-through" zoos about three hours away. In the park, as we passed through a flock of ostriches in Dale's big red T-Bird, one very large and curious bird put its face against the glass where Tammy was riding in the passenger seat. Greg and I were in the back and laughing like hell at the stupid-looking bird, and Tammy began shrieking. This made us laugh even harder, and made Dale roll down Tammy's window. With Tammy still screaming, the ostrich poked its freaky head and neck clear into the car, eyeing the screaming woman with a blank look, then turning and gazing at the two laughing retards in the back seat. Greg and I laughed so hard we nearly peed our pants.

But the best incident ever was one I missed for some reason, but had recounted to me.

Dale and Greg were driving around the downtown of a nearby large city one evening in Dale's '67 Impala, just screwing around and looking for something to do. Now, Greg was a shy fellow of about 18 at the time, and would not have his first girlfriend until he was about 35 years old. This made him an easy target for an extroverted sort like Dale.

Dale spotted a nice looking woman on the sidewalk ahead, waiting for a crosswalk light. He pulled over to the curb.

"Ma'am?" he yelled at the woman. She looked up. Dale motioned her towards him, and she walked toward the car.

"Yes?"

"Ma'am, could I get a kiss?"

The woman stepped backwards, but seemed mildly amused. "I don't think so," she replied.

Dale floored it on out of there, then made a U-turn. The woman had crossed the street and was now waiting for another light to turn.

Dale pulled up to the curb again, this time with the passenger side of the car, and Greg, facing the woman. He rolled down Greg's window and held it down.

"Ma'am?" Dale yelled, getting her attention again. Again, she approached the car.

"Yes?"

"Ma'am, could my friend get a kiss?"


EPILOGUE:

DALE later married TAMMY. They have three kids and live on a nice farm with, among many other critters, some emus, a close cousin of the ostrich.