Here is a brief description of the important images still in my adrenalyn soaked mind.
Wrapped by the leather bolsters of my cold Talon interior on this 35 degree morning. The engine idle falls from fast idle to the memorable rump-rump of a cammed-up 4-banger.
Traveling down a two lane, lit by the winter grey sky I see my planned turn-around point at Didleys (one of the local Hot Rod rebuild shops).
Within a split second a maroon early 80's Corvette peaks the Didleys drive with the rear tires engulfed in smoke, careening the car back and forth as the driver smiles his way through a couple of lively doughnuts in their parking lot.
As the Corvette aims for the exit, I decide that I am not turning around and the Talon goes into a low crawl like a lion on the Prowl.
A few turns and a number miles away I find myself behind the Corvette as the last remaining commuter pulls off from in front of the vette as we enter the racing circuit. The Vette lurches forward and I follow suite from a slight 2nd gear roll. I'll say that Didleys must have put some effort into that old smog chevy small block because we were dead even through all of second. I successfully engaged 3rd and the Talon locked on like a heat seaker. I'm on and off the go pedal to keep from pushing the Vette off the road in front of us.
Raw fuel smoke then rolls out of the vettes dual tail pipes as he gives up and blips the brake lights twice. A number of miles pass after this with the vette stuck in commuter mode and his tail tucked tightly between its hind quarters. (So much for picking up your freshly improved Hot Rod and feeling invincible.)
The road unwinds in to miles of visible freedom. I've grown bored looking at the tail end of this old American sports car. Third gear is again employed and the hammer dropped. Fast forward a few scant seconds and the vette is soundly miniscule in my rear view.
I enjoy the next few moments eating up glorious sweeping curves and blowing off miles like inches. To my amazement the Vette is roaring through the twisties behind me, but gaining no ground.
Lastly, I find myself at an inersection immediately after scrubbing off the speed that feeds. The Vette is finaly closing in as I wait for cars that were off the circuit to pass by. I spot an opening and light the tires into a blaze with the external dump sounding out the reapeted hit of the rev limiter as I crank the wheel left ending up nearly on the bumper of the commuter that just passed at about 55mph.
Oh baby...That's exactly what I needed. Fresh Vette meat! That was the last I seen of him that day.
That's the end of my attempt at describing the still images left burned in to my memory. I can only imagine that this poor fellow will be taking his vette back to Didleys this coming week saying that something must be wrong because he could not hold off or even loosely chase a little 4-banger.
(Maybe I should work out a deal with Didleys to come by everytime they finish a customers car so they will bring it right back for more work! Haha)