WARNING
Reading this may cause an unnatural rush of adrenaline resulting in all kinds of pedals being mashed in vehicles, causing unintended consequences. You’re on your own.
Prelude
Age - the nemesis of all young hearted has the tendency to make believe that the time has come for ‘wisdom’ (overrated) and the time for ‘actions of passion’ (totally underrated) is slowly passing. We, the simple mortals like sheep tend to fall for this soothing thoughts like a soft lullaby. The shrinking chest and the growing gut seems to reinforce these feeling while, your pesky relatives and peers longingly check to see if you show any interest in that NissHonToyMerc minivan. Naahh, they’re as ugly and boring today as they were yesterday and will be tomorrow. I’ve asked my better half to slap me silly if I ever show an interest in one of these betrayals of manhood. I spend my time scheming on ways to delay her seduction by the dark side, the pull of which seems too powerful for the fairer sex.
So, how to combat these tendencies? Trust me when you’re young and invincible these are far away thoughts. My Ducati 999 was my personal answer for the last five years. Our move to Vegas however, relegated the use of the Duc to, shall I say the unthinkable, ‘mundane’ category ‘cause of the absolute lack of any meaningful twisties. So with the heaviest of hearts I let her go and watched as the ecstatic 20 some year old rode away and wished him the very best. Five years ago, heck two years ago, it was unthinkable to me that this day would ever come. So all you young guns watch out, that day will sneak upon you like a banana peel in the night and before you know it, you’ll be flat on your back and wondering ‘what happened’. That day, when you think “let me take the train/plane, it’s so peaceful and I’ll be fresh when I get there”, the slide begins. DON’T DO IT, DRIVE THAT DAMN CAR OR RIDE THAT BIKE DOWN THERE. KEEP THE FIRE GOING.
Prelude to the Ode
I am however, determined to keep fanning the flames as high as possible. The amazing location of Vegas gives us access to some of the most spectacular sceneries in the world within a day’s drive. We immersed ourselves in thoroughly enjoying these places. My Solstice GXP has been a willing partner in this roaring ‘Ménage ŕ trois’ escapades as seen in the pictures below. She worked overtime in trying to make up for the loss of the Duc.
Life was good, places were spectacular, birds were chirping, eagles were soaring, music was soothing, blah, blah, blah and more blah, and generally everything seemed harmonious. Yet, this blah, blah, blah seemed very unconvincing. A nagging doubt remained whether I’d recovered from the sale of my Duc or, whether I ever will! Strange feelings, since the GXP as a sports car is more than a match for most humans. To fling it around is extremely satisfying and it has the speed to match almost anything except the very top dogs. Yet something, something….
ODE
As I spent my days convincing myself of the rightness of my situation, a fleeting glimpse!! What was that? Was that really her, the old flame from the past? Did she just flash her eyelids at me? How did I forget her? I made my life trying to remember the things I had loved and desired when we’re young and see if there is a way to fulfill them. Hence the 911, Duc etc. etc. But somehow I had forgotten her? How could I forget;
Her long voluptuous body
Her powerful grip
Her inviting embrace
Is it possible to rekindle that flame again? So started the search for the elusive siren that seemed to be the answer for my doubts.
And then out of the blue, I found her, appropriately enough, in one of the most spectacular cities of the world, San Francisco.
I pounced and checked her every square inch. Thoroughly satisfied, I took her home that day, no questions asked. The price for all this excitement, the princely sum of $11,250 with 50k miles on the dock. Absolutely pristine, in and out. This was a steal and one of the best deals I ever wrenched.
Then started her beautiful revelations of personality;
Her pride
Her soft yet tight embrace
Her stunning profile
And finally, her soul, her core, her being. What made her once a meteor among a lot of shiny stars and what makes her still hold her own against the top contenders. What made her a ‘96 CORVETTE C4 – LT4.
The mighty 5.7L V8 - LT4: easily 350+ hp@5800 rpm, 6300 redline, 350 lb.ft torque @ 1500 - 6000 rpm (aka. The Torque Monster). This engine was only produced in 1996 for a limited number of cars. The base engine was LT1 rated at 300hp@5000 rpm, 5700 redline.
Her swagger that I can’t resist, even more than the later C5 and C6 models.
FINALE
And with Route 1 aka Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) stretching in front for the next 150 miles, she decided to let me in on her personality. Unlike other sports cars that I’ve driven and also unlike the C5 and C6 corvettes, you do not sit in the car. You sink into it like sinking into a beanie bag, and get wrapped by the car. You are not just clicking in the seat belt but strapping on the jet that is the C4 – LT4. And then you see this.
A true jet fighter cockpit. Note the 8000 rpm Tach. It took five years after '96 before Corvette got an engine worthy of such a high tach.
You adjust your seat, which is perfect; your legs are almost flat out like an F1 car AND YOU CAN’T STOP GRINNING, EAR TO EAR. The car is a cocoon and it has just made you the last cog of its BEING. The 6-speed (only tranny available with the LT4 option) is your joy stick at the perfect reach. Adjust the mirrors for blind spots, check.
With the trembling expectation you turn on the thunder and soak in the minor vibrations coming thru the floor, yet startled by the smoothness of the GM 5.7L V8. You blip the throttle expecting the thunder of a hemi. Nope, not there. What the?? Mash the throttle – GGGRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG – a sustained mid-range angry scream.
She raises her eyebrow; “OK, OK”. You ease the clutch not really knowing the engagement point and accelerate. The car purrs like a cat and eases into the highway with absolutely no drama. The car is a breeze to drive. The traffic seems to be intense on PCH out of ‘Frisco. The car easily keeps its composure at low speeds of 70 mph and the rpm hovers lazily below the 1000 mark. Changing lanes is telepathic and instantaneous and fun. Middle aged men keep their gaze straight while their wives can’t keep their eyes off it. Everyone is ogling strangely, even guys in $100k Ferraris. C4s are rare now on the streets.
Half an hour out of the city, the lanes open up a little bit. She is showing some urgency now and the tach is at a lofty 1100 rpm. Lunching ahead, she gains on other vehicles like an eagle swooping in on its prey. Anyone that sees her on their mirrors hurries over to the slower lane. One word, RESPECT. One can sense the doubt on the Beemers, should I, should I? She smiles and breezes forward. If the ’71 911 is a hunters axe, the ‘vette is a snipers’ arrow. ZZZAAAAAPPPP.
We stop at Monterey for a short lunch and continue.
We’re now into the real spectacular sections of PCH going south of Monterey. Her true character starts shining through now. No 100 mph runs possible in these winding sections. She’s putting on a clinic on why she’s beaten 911 every year in road test comparos. On why the 2012 Z06 Corvette was declared the best handling car in the world. She is their predecessor and she’s putting on a show. As if traced by a playful superior being, the road winds through the mountainside with cliffs falling to the Pacific Ocean on the right. Up, down, left, right, up again. I leave the car in the 4th. Beautifully cambered 55 and 45 mph curves are straightened out at 70 mph with a contemptible disdainful swat. My wife has now contracted the dreaded white knuckle disease. Drivers ahead involuntarily brakes from sheer intimidation. She’s by them, before they can avoid looking at her. Suddenly the highway throws a series of 35mph and 25 mph corners at her, as if to test her. Downshift to 3rd, tap the brake and she’s through, no drama. Her balance and weight transfer is perfect.
Realizing that the game can go on for a long time, we take breaks for some photo shoots.
But I’ve got the bug now and hates wasting any time out of the car. We shoot some sunset pics just before the end of the mountain section.
And I’ve still 200+ miles to go before the night stop. With a grin, I mash the pedal.
The mountain section over, the highway has opened up sufficiently to release hers and yours pent up energy for some speed. You step on the throttle and THE AFTERBURNERS KICK-IN. You realize why she wants you as a part of her rather than a driver. 350+ ponies on a car that weighs 3300 lbs, you’re going for a ride, and a wild ride at that. The steering feel is excellent requiring deliberation, the brakes phenomenal, the fat rubber makes a mockery of the road grip, the digital speedo moves in chunks of 5 mph, the car is spitting chunks of the tarmac. The torque seems endless. You hit 120 mph and glance at the tach. Its lazing around 3000 rpm in the 6th gear. Jesus, you haven’t even scratched the surface yet. Vehicles miles ahead scramble out of the way, TOTAL INTIMIDATION. Your driving skill and control seems to be rising at an equally rapid pace. Downshift to 5, mash the pedal, the odo is now moving in chunks of 10 mph all the way to 145 mph before you back off. The car has so much more to give you wonder if this whole exercise is futile. AMAZING, AWESOME, EPIC and you run out of adjectives.
Excited, exhausted and entertained we reach our stop for the night. Sleep can’t come fast enough for the morning to get here even faster.
Finally home. Vegas, the Jewel of the Desert in the distance.
