Rabbit6
03-10-2001, 10:51 PM
It all began one day last July...
Several of my VW boyz were itching for some action.
We'd all but scared off the local Hondas and
Acuras from our meeting place. The suggestion was
made, "Mississauga late night drags." Seven pairs of
eyes lit up in anticipation. The legendary late night
drags, an illegal organization, practically a cult,
the main task for the local constabulary's new
helicopter, featured in newspapers, and recently
subject to a tv show on the A&E network. Yes, the late
night drags. Egos inflated and smashed, exotic scents
of nitrous, drag rubber and high octane fuel. Every
car you can imagine, it was an opportunity to destroy
or be destroyed by any automotive flavour you can
think of. We arrived at the meeting point in
Mississauga around 1 am. There was still plenty of
time before anything would happen. Cops came and went,
people were milling about, inspecting eachother's
vehicles, pointing sometimes with awe and sometimes
with mockery. The atmosphere was charged with an
aggressive tension. Most females would have undoubtedly
scorned the testosterone saturated machoism. We all
know what it is about. True to form, you could have
counted the number of girls there on one hand.
Suddenly, engines were being started and we were off.
Even on main city streets, the speeds travelled at
were break-neck. We arrived in a remote industrial
sector. It was perfect. A four lane road, flanked by
factories and a corn field, with a hill at one end
obscuring the city's view of our activities, and a
stoplight at the other end. Paced off, the light was
exactly a Q-mile from the finish line. We watched as
the races began, hardcore mustangs trailer queen
corvettes and everything else imaginable. The I was
bitten by the bug. Not having the most exemplary
driving record, I hadn't planned to race. Things
changed in a hurry. A turbo colt driver challenged me.
So much for will power. We met at the stop light,
which was being triggered via the crosswalk button by
some spectators. The light went green and I
launched... by third gear, he was so far behind me, I
let off the gas and coasted, turning off into the
crowd at the finish line. That was just an hors
d'eurve. I searched the crowd looking for a suitable
competitor. Some ass in a mid nineties civic with
guages on the hood refused to race for anything less
than fiftey bucks. Screw that. Then I spotted it.
Almost as if lit from above, there stood a new Integra
Type R. The much revered, bewinged japanese-rocket was
almost calling to me. Taunting me. I was suffused by
emotions of fear and hate all at once... I know my
Rabbit is fast, but just how fast? Years of
engineering and careful tuning have awarded me with
consistant top three autocross placings, and an
unbeaten street race record against anything up to
mildly tuned Mustangs. But I'd never lined up with an
'R'. Typically, Honda and Acura drivers around here, when
challenged will ask what you're driving before
accepting or declining. Piss poor sportsmanship, as
far as i'm concerned. I accept unconditionally, as
every race is a learning experience, win lose or draw.
This Integra driver was ttue to form.
"What are you driving?" he asks me.
"That Rabbit." I replied. With an amused snort, he
shrugs and patronizingly accepts. We met at the light,
and lined up as it turned red. My blood was boiling
with adrenaline. My breath came in shallow gasps and
my hand shook on the shifter. I closed my eyes, and
slowed down my mind and held my breath... As I opened
my eyes, and slowly exhaled, time seemed to slow down
to a crawl. The don't walk sign flashed once a week
for an eternity before the other light finally turned
red. The Type R was revving its engine, it sounded
like an indy car, though played at low speed on a
tape. I could almost see the red light go dark before
the green light ignited. Time stopped. In that split
second all emotions seemed to leave me. I was numb.
Tunnel vision closed in, teeth clenched, my heart
started again and with an almost audible bang, time
resumed. I had feathered the clutch at mid RPM and
acheived the perfect launch. I could hear the scream
of that Vtec beside me. Second gear came with rubber.
I kept my eyes glued on the tach. 5500rpm shifts kept
my 2L 8v in the fat of the torque band. The lane
divider lines flashed past, in a ever-hastening
flicker vertigo. I snatched third gear without letting
off the gas and my German rocket lept forward. My
overdrive 5th gear left me revving 4th gear to never
before seen numbers, when i dared to glance sideways
for the first time. There was nothing there, but the
blur of darkened factories. The side mirror revealed
the nose of a Type R about half a carlength behind me.
I crossed the finish line at 7000 RPM, way above my
useful power range, but victorious nevertheless. As I
coasted, i fought to keep a smile off my face. It was
useless. If ever i'd worn a shit-eating grin, it was
then. I turned around, and approached the crowd. I was
enveloped by cheering people, patting my hood,
jostling to shake my hand and yell encouragment. Above
it all i heard another voice... A voice laced with
shame and anger. It was the Acura driver, wanting a
rematch. Naturally, I accepted and we lined up again.
This time I beat him by two carlengths. Did he give up
or blow his launch? It matters not. I was elated. I
just beat the best Acura has to offer (save for the
NSX) twice... Excuses, in their expected abundance
were irrelevant. I had shown Volkswagen dominance. I
was at the top, or so I thought. The humiliated Type R
driver set me up against a mid 90's Civic. It was very
plain, lacking stickers, cheesey yellow painted single wipers, wings etc. I
felt i should quit while I was ahead, but the Integra
driver pressed hard to set this race up... I really
wasn't going to bother, until the civic driver said
it'd be a waste of time. "for me?" I asked.
"No, for me," He said.
That did it. This punk stepped outta line. We met at
the start line, and the light was triggered. I had a
pretty poor launch, but ignoring that, he still pulled
a little further ahead every gear. No turbo whistle,
no supercharger whine, no nitrous smoke.... I couldn't
believe it. There goes the only honda on the planet
that I have respect for, I thought. He got me by a
carlength and a half. Yep, the only one I respect, but
now that car is my obsession. I'll see him again, only next
time, I will beat him. Count on it.
Several of my VW boyz were itching for some action.
We'd all but scared off the local Hondas and
Acuras from our meeting place. The suggestion was
made, "Mississauga late night drags." Seven pairs of
eyes lit up in anticipation. The legendary late night
drags, an illegal organization, practically a cult,
the main task for the local constabulary's new
helicopter, featured in newspapers, and recently
subject to a tv show on the A&E network. Yes, the late
night drags. Egos inflated and smashed, exotic scents
of nitrous, drag rubber and high octane fuel. Every
car you can imagine, it was an opportunity to destroy
or be destroyed by any automotive flavour you can
think of. We arrived at the meeting point in
Mississauga around 1 am. There was still plenty of
time before anything would happen. Cops came and went,
people were milling about, inspecting eachother's
vehicles, pointing sometimes with awe and sometimes
with mockery. The atmosphere was charged with an
aggressive tension. Most females would have undoubtedly
scorned the testosterone saturated machoism. We all
know what it is about. True to form, you could have
counted the number of girls there on one hand.
Suddenly, engines were being started and we were off.
Even on main city streets, the speeds travelled at
were break-neck. We arrived in a remote industrial
sector. It was perfect. A four lane road, flanked by
factories and a corn field, with a hill at one end
obscuring the city's view of our activities, and a
stoplight at the other end. Paced off, the light was
exactly a Q-mile from the finish line. We watched as
the races began, hardcore mustangs trailer queen
corvettes and everything else imaginable. The I was
bitten by the bug. Not having the most exemplary
driving record, I hadn't planned to race. Things
changed in a hurry. A turbo colt driver challenged me.
So much for will power. We met at the stop light,
which was being triggered via the crosswalk button by
some spectators. The light went green and I
launched... by third gear, he was so far behind me, I
let off the gas and coasted, turning off into the
crowd at the finish line. That was just an hors
d'eurve. I searched the crowd looking for a suitable
competitor. Some ass in a mid nineties civic with
guages on the hood refused to race for anything less
than fiftey bucks. Screw that. Then I spotted it.
Almost as if lit from above, there stood a new Integra
Type R. The much revered, bewinged japanese-rocket was
almost calling to me. Taunting me. I was suffused by
emotions of fear and hate all at once... I know my
Rabbit is fast, but just how fast? Years of
engineering and careful tuning have awarded me with
consistant top three autocross placings, and an
unbeaten street race record against anything up to
mildly tuned Mustangs. But I'd never lined up with an
'R'. Typically, Honda and Acura drivers around here, when
challenged will ask what you're driving before
accepting or declining. Piss poor sportsmanship, as
far as i'm concerned. I accept unconditionally, as
every race is a learning experience, win lose or draw.
This Integra driver was ttue to form.
"What are you driving?" he asks me.
"That Rabbit." I replied. With an amused snort, he
shrugs and patronizingly accepts. We met at the light,
and lined up as it turned red. My blood was boiling
with adrenaline. My breath came in shallow gasps and
my hand shook on the shifter. I closed my eyes, and
slowed down my mind and held my breath... As I opened
my eyes, and slowly exhaled, time seemed to slow down
to a crawl. The don't walk sign flashed once a week
for an eternity before the other light finally turned
red. The Type R was revving its engine, it sounded
like an indy car, though played at low speed on a
tape. I could almost see the red light go dark before
the green light ignited. Time stopped. In that split
second all emotions seemed to leave me. I was numb.
Tunnel vision closed in, teeth clenched, my heart
started again and with an almost audible bang, time
resumed. I had feathered the clutch at mid RPM and
acheived the perfect launch. I could hear the scream
of that Vtec beside me. Second gear came with rubber.
I kept my eyes glued on the tach. 5500rpm shifts kept
my 2L 8v in the fat of the torque band. The lane
divider lines flashed past, in a ever-hastening
flicker vertigo. I snatched third gear without letting
off the gas and my German rocket lept forward. My
overdrive 5th gear left me revving 4th gear to never
before seen numbers, when i dared to glance sideways
for the first time. There was nothing there, but the
blur of darkened factories. The side mirror revealed
the nose of a Type R about half a carlength behind me.
I crossed the finish line at 7000 RPM, way above my
useful power range, but victorious nevertheless. As I
coasted, i fought to keep a smile off my face. It was
useless. If ever i'd worn a shit-eating grin, it was
then. I turned around, and approached the crowd. I was
enveloped by cheering people, patting my hood,
jostling to shake my hand and yell encouragment. Above
it all i heard another voice... A voice laced with
shame and anger. It was the Acura driver, wanting a
rematch. Naturally, I accepted and we lined up again.
This time I beat him by two carlengths. Did he give up
or blow his launch? It matters not. I was elated. I
just beat the best Acura has to offer (save for the
NSX) twice... Excuses, in their expected abundance
were irrelevant. I had shown Volkswagen dominance. I
was at the top, or so I thought. The humiliated Type R
driver set me up against a mid 90's Civic. It was very
plain, lacking stickers, cheesey yellow painted single wipers, wings etc. I
felt i should quit while I was ahead, but the Integra
driver pressed hard to set this race up... I really
wasn't going to bother, until the civic driver said
it'd be a waste of time. "for me?" I asked.
"No, for me," He said.
That did it. This punk stepped outta line. We met at
the start line, and the light was triggered. I had a
pretty poor launch, but ignoring that, he still pulled
a little further ahead every gear. No turbo whistle,
no supercharger whine, no nitrous smoke.... I couldn't
believe it. There goes the only honda on the planet
that I have respect for, I thought. He got me by a
carlength and a half. Yep, the only one I respect, but
now that car is my obsession. I'll see him again, only next
time, I will beat him. Count on it.