Need For Speed...Then Less Speed

As many of you know, I'm a bad ass race car driver (read: still heel-toe double-clutch like a grandpa trying to figure out a PS3 controller). More importantly than my driving ability though, is my choice of automobile. Many people can put in the time to become a proficient driver, but very few people can buy a fast car.

You are probably thinking "well not all people live rent-free in their parents' basement and spend the saved $$$ on some sort of sick penis enlarger called a car", but that's not it at all. I'm referring to the contract that they make you sign when you buy a sweet race car.

I'm already breaking the first rule of fast car club (don't talk about fast car club contract), but I don't think I have many fast car club readers...yet.

Now I'm not just rambling on about fast car club because I want the Lords that be to come take my ride, I'm prefacing a story...


I was driving down the Interstate the other day. It was Halloween Friday. I had worked in Bozeman all week and was excited to get back to Billings in order to see all of the skankiness downtown that night. I was doing my typical 84 mph (any speeding ticket on the highway that is under 10 mph over the limit will not register on your insurance in Montana) and slowly passing cars at a steady rate. About 10 miles before Big Timber I just hung in the passing lane for a bit after passing in order save the calories required to signal then move the steering wheel 6 degrees to the right.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

The unmistaken sound of a large naturally aspirated engine. I then see out of my driver side window a Beamer M3 moving fast. I'd say somewhere in the neighborhood of low triple digits.

I really wanted to let the guy blast past me and collect the hi-po ticket that was sure to find him down the road. I was set to let that happen. Really. But I couldn't. It wasn't pride. It wasn't some sort of cock measuring contest or anything like that at all. I had signed THE contract. The fast car contract that said "I ____ will never let another car race past me uncontested. Regardless of sobriety, mental state or physical disability, I ____ will bury the fucking throttle in the floormat." (damn NASA I hope THEY don't google my blog and see that betrayed the first rule)

Clutch. Rev. Down Shift. Zoom

I finally had my bumper at his passenger door around 125 mph.

Clutch. 6th. Zoom

The Beamer is a 5 gear manual against my 6 gear manual. Creep, creep, creep and I was leading. That was also about the time my govenor kicked in (152mph). The tables changed and the M3 started moving into the distance as I pinged my speed limitor about 4 times. Then I quickly came up with a rationalization for not removing my govenor: I don't need to be going any faster than this...

I DON'T NEED TO BE GOING THIS FAST! I'M ON SNOW TIRES! 120MPH SPEED RATED SNOW TIRES!

[Science Lesson: Tire speed ratings are based on heat. The faster a car goes, the more friction the tires see. Friction equals heat, and heat equals tires exploding. It doesn't require many hours of GTA4 to see what a bad idea driving fast without tires is.]

I throttled down and regained a more "appropriate" speed. (I mean I climbed out on the hood while I was still racing, pulled the govenor out with my bare hands and raced the M3 until he exploded in a fireball...and then I found $20)

Here is a pic of me, the M3 and a Mitsubishi GTS that caught up to the big dogs down the road from Big Timber. We did some 120mph cruising for a while. Fun stuff.



I'm now in Florida and I get to drive my "roommate's" (crazy older dude that likes to lock every door all of the time) rig. It doesn't move fast, shakes, and is slow to stop. But it makes a serious statement:


It says: I am not a "real man"

...and "nope"