"Seat Safety Switch" (seat-safety-switch)
08/14/2015 at 11:48 • Filed to: lifted miata, the postman always rod knocks twice
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"Seat Safety Switch" (seat-safety-switch)
08/14/2015 at 11:48 • Filed to: lifted miata, the postman always rod knocks twice | 6
| 1 |
The road straightens up ahead and I reflexively allow the RX7 to enter its native environment of full throttle, the furious 13B screaming to its incomprehensible redline. This bit of throttle steering helps tuck the rear end in, and the FC squats on its long-throw truck suspension, sliding the distorting Grabbers nearly to the solid white on the shoulder, past which marbles and doom await me.
I straighten out for the corner exit and pin it. As the RX7 climbs the hill out of the valley, the stunning Colorado sky peeks through the dense roadside forest. I’d have had more time to take in the sights were it not for the squadron of lifted piston-based Mazdas hot on my tail, their riders swinging grappling hooks and waving loaded piton guns out of their windows.
One strut-spacer-lifted NB Miata comes tearing at my quarter panel, and I can tell from the rumble alone that it is powered by some kind of ghetto-savaged carbed 350. Not really enough car to keep up with me, but enough to trouble me on the straights, and this was a long straight.
When I came to this sleepy town looking for a plot of land to buy up for my employer, I didn’t expect such a peculiar reception. I began to contemplate the potential reasons for a squadron of lifted piston-based Mazdas lying in wait. There were none. I was flummoxed, but I didn’t come unprepared.
I lift. The RX7 engine-brakes suddenly, confusing the Miata driver. He brakes too hard in response, accelerates back to pace my quarter panel, falls out of the torque peak.
I pull the red fabric strap on the drivers’ side door. The carbon-kevlar door skin pops open, flapping in the breeze. A steel ball bearing is instantaneously accelerated to near- c by the door-mounted railgun, and splits the Miata lengthwise in the blink of an eye. My dome light flickers, but I don’t need it to see the other Mazdas slowing down, preparing to retreat. I tug the door back closed and once again hit the throttle, disappearing into the horizon.
My CB radio squawks. I can dimly make out the sound of an appreciative slow clap. I’ve won this battle, but who is doing this to me?
I see a service station, and decide to think about it while nervously refilling and checking my oil level so as to protect my precious side seals.
Daily Drives a Dragon - One Last Lap
> Seat Safety Switch
08/14/2015 at 11:55 |
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I’d watch a movie if it had this scene in it.