HomemadeTurbo - DIY Turbo Forum

I borrowed my wife's Geo Metro tonight. One liter of raw power,
three cylinders of asphalt-tearing terror on thirteen-inch rims. It's
stock, alright, nothing done to it, but it pushes the barely 2000
pounds of metro around with AUTHORITY. I'm always catching mopeds and
18-wheelers by surprise...

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 Metro throbbed 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. I turned, made eye contact, then let my eyes trace
over the competition. Ford Festiva-a late model, could be trouble. Low
profile tires, curb feelers, and schoolbus-yellow paint. Yep, a hot
rod, for sure. The howl of his motor snapped my reverie, and I looked
back into the driver's eyes, nodded, then blipped my own throttle. 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...

Then the light turned... I almost had him out of the hole, my three
pounding cylinders thrusting me at least a millimeter back into my
seat, as smoke pouring from my front right tire... my unlimited slip
differential was letting me down! I saw in the corner of my eyes, a
yellow snout gaining, and I heard the roar of his four cylinders. He
slung by me, right front wheel juddering against the pavement, and he
flashed me a smile as his .7 extra liters of motor stretched its legs.
I kept my foot gamely in it, though, waiting for the CHECK ENGINE
light to blink on in the one-gauge (no tachometer here!) instrument
panel. I saw a glimpse of chrome under his bumper, and knew the ugly
truth... He was running a custom exhaust-probably a 2-into-1 dual
exhaust...maybe event cutouts! Damn his hot-rod soul! The old lady
passing us on the crosswalk cast a dirty look in our boy-racer
direction... Yet still I persisted, with my three pumping pistons
singing a heady high-pitched 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, shifting, and nursed the clutch gently in to keep from bogging,
keeping my motor spinning hot and pulling me ahead, now trailing a
cloud of stinking clutch smoke. 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.

He pulled slowly abreast of me, and neck and neck, we made the shift
to third, the scream of motors deafening all pedestrians within a five
foot circle. He nosed ahead as we passed 30 miles an hour, then eased
in front of me, taunting, as we shifted into fourth. 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.

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 Metro roll slowly
to the left as I came abreast in the midst of this gradual sweeping
turn. I felt the Geo ease onto its suspension stops, and felt the
right rear wheel slowly leave the ground - no matter, though, because
my drive wheels, up front, were pulling me through the corner, and
around the Festiva ...

The Ford driver beat his wheel in rage as my wife's car eased past him
on the outside, my P165/55R13'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. Chevy
(Suzuki) superiority reigns!!! 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!