QuasiMondo

Every Sunday at Island Dragway out in East Boondock, NJ they have their test and tune events. It's a very nifty concept actually. Put your car on the track, see what it runs, make some adjustments, put it back on the track, rinse, repeat. Most of the time it's a rag-tag collection of beat up Novas, Chevelles, a few old Camaros Monte Carlos, a Mustang here or there, and an occasional high end sports car.

Today was different, though. Today was a Mopar special. Time trials for anything made by the hands of factory workers employed by the Chrysler Corporation. As far as the eye could see there were 'Cudas, Polaras, Chargers, Challengers, Darts, Demons, Superbees, and Li'l Red Wagons. They had all kinds of monstrous machines rumbling under their hoods too. 440 Super Commando, 340 Six Pack, Hemi, on and on.

And then, there was me. In a Mitsubishi. All 122 cubic inches of four-bangin' turbocharged fury. I would not be intimidated, even though I could barely hear my lightly muffled 3" exhaust over the rumble of a blue '68 Charger that reminded me of something Brock Samson would drive.

The first stop after arriving punching in my ticket would be to the tech inspection line. Safety's first, and the faster you ran, the more safety equipment you needed. I wasn't that fast (yet), so it would be a breeze for me. As long as I had a DOT or Snell approved helmet, long sleeved shirt, pants, and some kind of footwear that looks like it won't promote toe loss in the event of an unfortunate crash, I was good. Of course, had I been a blazing fast time machine, they would require much more of me, like driveshaft hoops, a scattershield, a NHRA-approved roll cage, flame retardant suit, killswitch, and on and on. These guys don't mess around when it comes to safety, and when you're piloting 600 horses of unleaded fury, you wouldn't want to skimp on safety either. But I only have 270 horses of fury, nowhere near as dangerous.

After I was signed off on the safety stuff, I returned to the pits to survey the scene around me. Nothing but V8's and I was still the odd man out. Small-block Chevys on the left. Big block Mopars on the right. My and my trusty rice burner in the middle, along with one other import. Unfortunately, it was a Hyundai owned by the lady who ran the concession stand. A quick stop at this concession stand for coffee, a donut, and before long, I was primed for battle.

The track announcer began to call all test and tune cars to the staging lanes. Eager to make my first run, got the early jump and managed to be the first one on the track. Because there were so many racers out today, we were limited to only three runs, so I had to make them count. My first opponent was a late 80's Monte Carlo SS. I wasn't worried. Stock SS's only had a 5.0 liter V8 that most GM fans regard as a total POS with no performance potential. I had this one in the bag.

Or so I thought. This is a perfect opportunity to mention that the last time I was on the track, I was in a different car that had a nifty device known as a stutterbox. This handy-dandy tool would hold the engine at a set speed so all you would have to do is stand on the gas, stand on the clutch, and when the light turns green, let the clutch go and enjoy the ride. It's as simple as I just described it. I must mention this because this time around, I didn't have a stutterbox and would have to rely on the art of launching, which when done improperly will either bog the engine, give you nothing but unproductive wheelspin, or in the case of an all-wheel-drive vehicle like mine, be a game of Russian-roulette where you'll either take off like a scalded cat, or break something, preferably the clutch. I ended up bogging, and by the time the turbo woke up (damn that lag), it was too late, and I lost by half a second (13.8 seconds to 13.2 seconds). I know, half a second doesn't seem like much, but in drag racing where every thousandth of a second counts, half a second is like an eternity.

Me: 0 Them: 1 Video

Undisturbed by this stinging defeat, I returned to the pits to make sure everything was still in one piece. While I was there, the man in the Monte stopped by. He was impressed by my run, even though I was disappointed. "It's been a while since I've seen one of these," he commented about my car. "It's good to see they can still run with the big boys." After that, we wished each other luck and I headed back into the staging lanes for my second run.

This time, my opponent was in a Corvette. Not just any Corvette, mind you, but a Grand Sport. Almost indistinguishable from your garden variety 'vette, save for the blue paint, fat racing stripe down the middle, and a pair of red Adidas-like red stripes on the driver's fender, one can be easily lulled into thinking these was just some paint job specialty. That is, until you find out they carry a 330 hp engine under the hood. An engine that was rumored to be underrated from the factory. An engine that can eat you for breakfast. My only saving grace is that most Corvette drivers can't drive. Hopefully, he was one of them.

I crept to the line and waited for him to finish his smokey tire burnout. As we tripped the beams, I held the engine at 5k, and when the lights turned green, I let her rip. I did everything I could, but still lost. He was just that damn fast. My 13.2 was no match for his 11.5. I did better, but the big fish were serious today.
Video

Last run, now. This time, I decided to go for broke. Checking to make sure I still had my AAA membership car just in case things went catastrophically wrong, I turned the high-boost knob on my boost controller up from "lotsa boost" to "are you nuts!?!" This run would be one for the personal record books.

Opponent #3 would be in a Mustang Cobra. As the light went green, I gave it all I got. I could tell it was a good launch, but then I got hung up trying to put it in second. Precious time was lost and the Mustang crept forward. I finally got it into second and halted his forward advance. By third gear, I was reeling him in, but disaster struck again as fourth gear wouldn't engage. By the time I recovered, the damage was done, and the result was too horrible to mention.
Video

So there you have it. I did good enough to not embarrass myself, but not good enough to leave any lasting impressions. I will be back, and I will be fast!!!

PS: There are calculators out there that can estimate your 0-60 times based on 1/8 and 1/4 mile trap speeds and elapsed times, but for reference's sake, my best run puts me on par with a 2006 Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution that does 0-60 in 4.5 seconds and runs the quarter mile in about 13.1 seconds.

__________________
Cameron originally envisioned the Terminator as a small, unremarkable man, giving it the ability to blend in more easily. As a result, his first choice for the part was Lance Henriksen. O. J. Simpson was on the shortlist but Cameron did not think that such a nice guy could be a ruthless killer.

-From the Collector's Edition DVD of The Terminator

fastom

That's a nicely written account of the day. It does get addictive when you want to be faster every time out.