VA - Roadshark warning

["Lin, Gary" <Gary.Lin@xxxxxxxx>]

Seen several dark green Jeep Grand Cherokees pulling people over.  One setup
was on I-395 S just past Seminary Rd. at the shoulder cutout, hiding behind
a white truck.  Keep alert!

With all your racing stories, I found this too funny to pass up.

Gary Lin
humor------ Begin forwarded message -----
> >Date: Thu, 15 Oct 1998 10:18:01 -0500
> >Subject: <all> A REAL RACE
> >
> >I borrowed my wife's Geo Metro last night. One liter of raw power, 3 
> >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 even 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 P165/54R13'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 VW 
> >Vanagon!

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