Adrenaline
Adrenaline
Authors Note: Yes, I know this is extremely short, but it's meant to be, besides, how much can you cram into a sub ten second quarter mile. No, I don't intend to make this into more...not yet anyway.
_'It's the love of the chase, that created the ride' -_Shinedown
Idling his 1967 Camaro into the waterbox, the fox felt that familiar tingle crawl up his spine, the one that wouldn't go away for the next quarter mile. Coming to a stop, he shifted into second gear and set the line lock to hold the front brakes. Laying into the throttle, he brought the four hundred eighty nine cubic inch big block Chevy up to throttle, out went the clutch. The car lurched as the rear tires, big Mickey Thompson drag slicks broke loose. Mashing the throttle the rest of the way into the floorboard, his senses were immediately assaulted by the sound and feel of the supercharged engine screaming at nearly 7,000 rpm, the Weiand 8-71 blower shrieking like a banshee, itself. The car shuddered with the engine working against the chassis. The smell of burning rubber invaded his nose as the smoke found its way into the cab. Releasing the line lock button on the shift knob after several seconds, he let the car launch forward for a couple seconds before lifting the throttle and punching the clutch. A cloud of tire smoke hung heavily behind the car.
Pulling up to the tree, he shifted into first and started staging the car. The engine roared at part throttle, ready to be unleashed. Pre-stage, stage, amber countdown lights. It felt like an eternity. It always did.
Green.
The car jumped forward, its front tires leaving the ground by nearly a foot, helped by the 4.56:1 axle gears, eight hundred fifty horsepower and the absolutely brutal torque curve that came with those ponies. The shift light mounted on the big Autometer tachometer lit at 7,100 rpm, he shifted at almost 7,500, redlined. The front tires settled back down to the pavement with the shift. Second gear, third, fourth, the walls on each side of his car streaked past at over 140 miles per hour. It was over in less than 10 seconds.
Coming off the throttle after passing through the beam on the big end, he felt the fur on the back of his neck lay back down. His left paw loosened up its grip on the wheel as he made the turn onto the return road, driving by the small grandstand; mostly empty, it was just a test 'n tune night, a good night to get your car dialed in or settle a score with a friend.
Pulling up to where he had been parked earlier, he watched the 1970 Dodge Superbee that he had just eked out pull up alongside his Camaro. Reaching up to the switchbox mounted overhead, he thumbed the switches to kill the electric fan, water pump, fuel pump and finally, the engine. He pulled his helmet off and left it on the passenger seat.
Getting out of the car, he leaned against the deck lid, waiting for the other driver. He didn't have to wait too long; she got out a few moments later, walking back to the back of her car.
"About that beer?" he asked.
"Best two out of three, loser buys?" the wolf countered, pushing an errant lock of hair out of her face with a small smile.
"You're on" the fox grinned. There went that tingle up his spine again. The adrenaline of the chase was like a drug, always calling his name. He was helpless but to answer.