Midwayman
09-11-2000, 03:53 PM
found at speed mag...
Impreza vs. Mustang GT
by Sean, age - 23, male
posted June 08, 2000
The rural town I live in is a breeding ground for fast cars and inexperienced young drivers. In order to be cool enough to hang out on the main drag in town, you have to own a Honda, Acura or Mustang and you have to have at least a hundred pounds of stickers and other useless garbage glued on (poorly installed spoilers pointing in the wrong direction, fake intercoolers, single blade conversions, hood scoops glued to the hood with no hole underneath, clear corners, etc.).
To make things worse, all the high school kids think that all that plastic actually makes their cars go faster. Or, even worse, they actually have a fast car and can't drive. The latter was the case with a Mustang GT driver that decided to impress his girlfriend with an easy race (me, with my virtually stock Subaru Impreza Outback Sport). He failed.
There is a light at the end of the main drag that becomes a split exit/onramp. The left lane heads South on the highway, while the right lane heads North. This is where most challenges happen because it's heading out of town and, with the exception of the hairpin turn at the end of the Southbound exit, is the safest place to race because there are no wide open straights anywhere else in the immediate area. Also, it's an immediate light switch so the minute one light turns red, the other goes green. Almost like the tree at a strip.
First of all, I was in my element. It had just started raining slightly. Not enough to start forming puddles, but enough to cause the oil in the road to start floating to the surface from a previous accident. In other words, it was the most dangerous conditions possible to try to race. But, that didn't stop the the driver of a Mustang GT from pulling up next to me at the stop light and revving his engine to impress his girlfriend.
He threw me a sneer. I ignored him. He chirped his tires and kept inching forward, looking at the stoplight facing the opposite direction. I pushed in the clutch and rolled back slightly to hopefully tell him I wasn't interested. I saw him mouth something that made his girlfriend giggle and point at me. Then she flipped me off while mouthing "***** ." I became annoyed. From here, my adrenaline started pumping and what I remember is sketchy, at best.
Now, I almost never drag race. It's not my element. I'm used to driving in the dirt. That's what my car is set up for. Plain and simple, the 2.2L in my Impreza is weak compared to any real racecar, but it gets the job done on gravel. But today, something was different. Today, the road was very slick. And I knew for a fact that the driver of the Mustang GT had just gotten his license and a brand new car from Mommy and Daddy (I'd seen him riding a bike a few weeks previous and hanging out in the "performance" cars clique on the main drag).
The light facing the opposide direction went to yellow and I heard the huge engine on my right rev, bouncing around redline somewhere. I patiently waited until the light was just about to go green and floored it. I bounced off my lame rev limiter and popped the clutch just as the light turned green.
The pure power of my 2.2L boxer engine desperately gasping for air through my Turn3 cold-air intake sounded like a pathetic goldfish sucking out of water. I heard the deafening screech of tires peeling out next to me as I started to pull forward. Then, an amazing thing happened.
I pulled away from the line. He didn't. I can only assume that the Mustang GT driver had no idea just how slick the conditions were and dropped the clutch expecting a dry launch. I heard him pull off the gas for a moment to gain traction, then his tires chirped violently as he floored it again.
By this time, only a second or so had passed and I had a whopping carlength or two on him. I heard him pull off the line extremely quickly, hunting for traction. I had proven my point, but continued to keep the accelerator buried, basking in the smell of my burning clutch.
I bounced off the rev limiter again and pushed into second, expecting to see the Mustang GT flying by my weak car at any moment. That moment never happened. He had caught up to me very quickly, but then he made the mistake of missing his shift. I heard the sickening grinding of second gear come from him as I kept accelerating and double clutched early into third. I buried the accelerator to the floor again, slightly lugging the engine.
He hunted for second, caught it, chirped his tires and got right up behind me. By now, I had passed the Northbound/Southbound fork in the exit and he was forced to pull behind me into the Southbound exit. I looked into my rear view mirror to see a fuming driver and a laughing girlfriend. But apparently, he had not yet had enough. In true road rage fashion, he glued himself to my rear bumper and refused to back off as I accelerated to about seventy.
This, unfortunately, was his last mistake that day. I suppose I shouldn't have done what I did, but I backed down to around fourty using engine braking, downshifted back to second, floored it and accelerated into the hairpin. I felt the AWD kick in and adjust the torque split, so I backed off and quickly blipped the throttle again to swing the rear end out into a powerslide (something that Imprezas and Lancers are famous for). My brake lights never came on...
Now, we really weren't going all that fast. The hairpin is rated for fifteen miles per hour and I routinely take it at thirty, however this was a special day and I entered the turn going around fourty-five, just barely under redline in second gear.
My rear end swung out a little farther than I had hoped and hit gravel on the side of the road, so I knew I had entered the turn way too hot. I countersteered the powerslide and got my Impreza pointed straight again and looked in the rear view as I heard screeching brakes from behind me. I saw the Mustang GT for a splid second, then it was gone. Literally.
My heart skipped a beat and I slammed on the brakes. I knew exactly what had happened. I jumped into reverse and backed up the onramp to the hairpin...to see the brand new Mustang GT sitting at the bottom of the drainage pool, spinning his tires in six inches of water, trying to get back up the hill.
Because the hairpin is elevated going onto a bridge and there are no guardrails, he had lost traction and dumped the car down the incline. Nothing major and no damage to the car, but embarrassing nontheless. Even more embarrassing was the fact that, instead of trying to slowly drive up the incline, he just had his accelerator buried and was helplessly spitting grass, water and mud everywhere.
To add insult to injury, I opened my hatch, pulled out my tow strap, hooked it up to my rear hooks and started walking down the incline towards him. His girlfriend was hysterically laughing by now and I suppose I should have known what would happen next.
He opened his door and came out swinging at me, screaming obscenities that even I hadn't heard before. A little surprised, I gripped the tow strap tightly for support and pulled myself back up the incline as quickly as possible. When I got to the top, he yelled something along the lines of, "yeah, you better run!" and finished it off with something about him kicking my ass and destroying my ***** car.
Not wanting to further the confrontation, I drove off to where I was going in the first place, wondering how long it took him to get out. But, more importantly, how long he was yelled at by his girlfriend for giving up a free tow.
I now see him every few days hanging out on the main drag in town talking with his other "performance" friends. I honk and wave with a smile. He gets a disgusted look on his face and usually flips me off. And if, by some twist of fate, he happens to pull up to the light at the same time as me, he'll take a left or right and take the long way to the highway instead of going straight. Go figure.
But the most amusing thing of all is that this has happened quite a few times. Guys in highly modified Civics or Integras constantly try to race me in the wet and fail miserably. Fortunately, the Mustang GT was the only one that actually dumped off the road.
/Sean/
Impreza vs. Mustang GT
by Sean, age - 23, male
posted June 08, 2000
The rural town I live in is a breeding ground for fast cars and inexperienced young drivers. In order to be cool enough to hang out on the main drag in town, you have to own a Honda, Acura or Mustang and you have to have at least a hundred pounds of stickers and other useless garbage glued on (poorly installed spoilers pointing in the wrong direction, fake intercoolers, single blade conversions, hood scoops glued to the hood with no hole underneath, clear corners, etc.).
To make things worse, all the high school kids think that all that plastic actually makes their cars go faster. Or, even worse, they actually have a fast car and can't drive. The latter was the case with a Mustang GT driver that decided to impress his girlfriend with an easy race (me, with my virtually stock Subaru Impreza Outback Sport). He failed.
There is a light at the end of the main drag that becomes a split exit/onramp. The left lane heads South on the highway, while the right lane heads North. This is where most challenges happen because it's heading out of town and, with the exception of the hairpin turn at the end of the Southbound exit, is the safest place to race because there are no wide open straights anywhere else in the immediate area. Also, it's an immediate light switch so the minute one light turns red, the other goes green. Almost like the tree at a strip.
First of all, I was in my element. It had just started raining slightly. Not enough to start forming puddles, but enough to cause the oil in the road to start floating to the surface from a previous accident. In other words, it was the most dangerous conditions possible to try to race. But, that didn't stop the the driver of a Mustang GT from pulling up next to me at the stop light and revving his engine to impress his girlfriend.
He threw me a sneer. I ignored him. He chirped his tires and kept inching forward, looking at the stoplight facing the opposite direction. I pushed in the clutch and rolled back slightly to hopefully tell him I wasn't interested. I saw him mouth something that made his girlfriend giggle and point at me. Then she flipped me off while mouthing "***** ." I became annoyed. From here, my adrenaline started pumping and what I remember is sketchy, at best.
Now, I almost never drag race. It's not my element. I'm used to driving in the dirt. That's what my car is set up for. Plain and simple, the 2.2L in my Impreza is weak compared to any real racecar, but it gets the job done on gravel. But today, something was different. Today, the road was very slick. And I knew for a fact that the driver of the Mustang GT had just gotten his license and a brand new car from Mommy and Daddy (I'd seen him riding a bike a few weeks previous and hanging out in the "performance" cars clique on the main drag).
The light facing the opposide direction went to yellow and I heard the huge engine on my right rev, bouncing around redline somewhere. I patiently waited until the light was just about to go green and floored it. I bounced off my lame rev limiter and popped the clutch just as the light turned green.
The pure power of my 2.2L boxer engine desperately gasping for air through my Turn3 cold-air intake sounded like a pathetic goldfish sucking out of water. I heard the deafening screech of tires peeling out next to me as I started to pull forward. Then, an amazing thing happened.
I pulled away from the line. He didn't. I can only assume that the Mustang GT driver had no idea just how slick the conditions were and dropped the clutch expecting a dry launch. I heard him pull off the gas for a moment to gain traction, then his tires chirped violently as he floored it again.
By this time, only a second or so had passed and I had a whopping carlength or two on him. I heard him pull off the line extremely quickly, hunting for traction. I had proven my point, but continued to keep the accelerator buried, basking in the smell of my burning clutch.
I bounced off the rev limiter again and pushed into second, expecting to see the Mustang GT flying by my weak car at any moment. That moment never happened. He had caught up to me very quickly, but then he made the mistake of missing his shift. I heard the sickening grinding of second gear come from him as I kept accelerating and double clutched early into third. I buried the accelerator to the floor again, slightly lugging the engine.
He hunted for second, caught it, chirped his tires and got right up behind me. By now, I had passed the Northbound/Southbound fork in the exit and he was forced to pull behind me into the Southbound exit. I looked into my rear view mirror to see a fuming driver and a laughing girlfriend. But apparently, he had not yet had enough. In true road rage fashion, he glued himself to my rear bumper and refused to back off as I accelerated to about seventy.
This, unfortunately, was his last mistake that day. I suppose I shouldn't have done what I did, but I backed down to around fourty using engine braking, downshifted back to second, floored it and accelerated into the hairpin. I felt the AWD kick in and adjust the torque split, so I backed off and quickly blipped the throttle again to swing the rear end out into a powerslide (something that Imprezas and Lancers are famous for). My brake lights never came on...
Now, we really weren't going all that fast. The hairpin is rated for fifteen miles per hour and I routinely take it at thirty, however this was a special day and I entered the turn going around fourty-five, just barely under redline in second gear.
My rear end swung out a little farther than I had hoped and hit gravel on the side of the road, so I knew I had entered the turn way too hot. I countersteered the powerslide and got my Impreza pointed straight again and looked in the rear view as I heard screeching brakes from behind me. I saw the Mustang GT for a splid second, then it was gone. Literally.
My heart skipped a beat and I slammed on the brakes. I knew exactly what had happened. I jumped into reverse and backed up the onramp to the hairpin...to see the brand new Mustang GT sitting at the bottom of the drainage pool, spinning his tires in six inches of water, trying to get back up the hill.
Because the hairpin is elevated going onto a bridge and there are no guardrails, he had lost traction and dumped the car down the incline. Nothing major and no damage to the car, but embarrassing nontheless. Even more embarrassing was the fact that, instead of trying to slowly drive up the incline, he just had his accelerator buried and was helplessly spitting grass, water and mud everywhere.
To add insult to injury, I opened my hatch, pulled out my tow strap, hooked it up to my rear hooks and started walking down the incline towards him. His girlfriend was hysterically laughing by now and I suppose I should have known what would happen next.
He opened his door and came out swinging at me, screaming obscenities that even I hadn't heard before. A little surprised, I gripped the tow strap tightly for support and pulled myself back up the incline as quickly as possible. When I got to the top, he yelled something along the lines of, "yeah, you better run!" and finished it off with something about him kicking my ass and destroying my ***** car.
Not wanting to further the confrontation, I drove off to where I was going in the first place, wondering how long it took him to get out. But, more importantly, how long he was yelled at by his girlfriend for giving up a free tow.
I now see him every few days hanging out on the main drag in town talking with his other "performance" friends. I honk and wave with a smile. He gets a disgusted look on his face and usually flips me off. And if, by some twist of fate, he happens to pull up to the light at the same time as me, he'll take a left or right and take the long way to the highway instead of going straight. Go figure.
But the most amusing thing of all is that this has happened quite a few times. Guys in highly modified Civics or Integras constantly try to race me in the wet and fail miserably. Fortunately, the Mustang GT was the only one that actually dumped off the road.
/Sean/