I Put Down The Hammer And Saw
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Joined: Jun 2002
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From: Littleton
I can't stop driving.
If ever I had any question why sportscars are female, I posed it in a former life. Not anymore. What a date!
Tonight was my first star-canopy drive with no particular place to go. I teased VTEC the entire drive through the cool midnight air. She loved it. She purred, yelped, squealed and roared. I sang. LOUD. Were the HIDs facing out or in? 
All the roads that had been choked with heat, dust, boredom and noise during the rush hours were freshly washed from last night's downpour and were now nearly abandoned. Just the sound of the wind and the wheels. And some idiot singing.
I went to work. In this still-new world of *spirited* driving, old habits die hard. These roads I knew; every twist, every run, the durations of the traffic lights. And within this familiarity I found the confidence to connect to 3113 (aka EllE) as she connected to the road. What a dance! I autocrossed the now-empty lot where I work. I tested a skidpad that I'd read about in Excellence Magazine. I redlined through first, second, third down the frontage road. Repeatedly. Holding her in VTEC throughout the gears is an amazing experience. I'd always just assumed VTEC was something to jump up and touch, then drop back to earth. It never occured to me before to shift above it and stay in the air until the road ran out. What an sound!
The rev limiter was a surprise, though, and momentarily I thought I'd broken the mood. I'd never felt the limiter before or if I did it was with a woman and not a car. But, no, she was telling me what to do. Before too long, so much of what I've read about was in my hands; the kick, the handling, the drift and, of course, the brakes. 
Also the overconfidence. (Can one really be overconfident?) Never once did it get out of hand. But it was tempting. I was hitting everything right. It felt as though I could 180 into one of the parking slots. In any other car it would have been abuse. But she loved it. And I loved her.
Then I stopped and admired the evidence of our skidpad. I could make out one particularly prominent arc of rubber on the asphalt and wondered if I could hit that area again and kick her ass out so our tires would shape it into a heart. What would my co-workers think in the morning upon looking out and seeing a rubber heart in the lot? I changed CDs, had a cigarette and sat beside her on the pavement admiring her curves. Then slowly and quietly, we slipped back home.
I'm never gonna be able to keep the mileage down.
If ever I had any question why sportscars are female, I posed it in a former life. Not anymore. What a date!
Tonight was my first star-canopy drive with no particular place to go. I teased VTEC the entire drive through the cool midnight air. She loved it. She purred, yelped, squealed and roared. I sang. LOUD. Were the HIDs facing out or in? All the roads that had been choked with heat, dust, boredom and noise during the rush hours were freshly washed from last night's downpour and were now nearly abandoned. Just the sound of the wind and the wheels. And some idiot singing. I went to work. In this still-new world of *spirited* driving, old habits die hard. These roads I knew; every twist, every run, the durations of the traffic lights. And within this familiarity I found the confidence to connect to 3113 (aka EllE) as she connected to the road. What a dance! I autocrossed the now-empty lot where I work. I tested a skidpad that I'd read about in Excellence Magazine. I redlined through first, second, third down the frontage road. Repeatedly.
Holding her in VTEC throughout the gears is an amazing experience. I'd always just assumed VTEC was something to jump up and touch, then drop back to earth. It never occured to me before to shift above it and stay in the air until the road ran out. What an sound!The rev limiter was a surprise, though, and momentarily I thought I'd broken the mood. I'd never felt the limiter before or if I did it was with a woman and not a car.
But, no, she was telling me what to do. Before too long, so much of what I've read about was in my hands; the kick, the handling, the drift and, of course, the brakes. Also the overconfidence. (Can one really be overconfident?) Never once did it get out of hand. But it was tempting. I was hitting everything right. It felt as though I could 180 into one of the parking slots. In any other car it would have been abuse. But she loved it. And I loved her. Then I stopped and admired the evidence of our skidpad. I could make out one particularly prominent arc of rubber on the asphalt and wondered if I could hit that area again and kick her ass out so our tires would shape it into a heart. What would my co-workers think in the morning upon looking out and seeing a rubber heart in the lot? I changed CDs, had a cigarette and sat beside her on the pavement admiring her curves. Then slowly and quietly, we slipped back home.
I'm never gonna be able to keep the mileage down.
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Joined: Oct 2000
Posts: 341
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From: West Bend
Sounds more like a Penthouse Forum letter!!
I get that same feeling, bash, every time Red Barchetta comes on the radio or I pop in the CD. Something about that song makes me want to hit the nearest exit, find a lonely road and party!!
I get that same feeling, bash, every time Red Barchetta comes on the radio or I pop in the CD. Something about that song makes me want to hit the nearest exit, find a lonely road and party!!
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