Honeymoon is over. Sigh...
Honeymoon is over. Sigh...
I despoiled her oil cap today. 28,692 miles and finally she demanded a half quart of oil. Just put it in, and I have to say that's a neat design for the cap with that filler tube, almost a funnel, built right in. Nice touch, though I'll have to add $8.00 to the cost of operation now. Well, strictly speaking, just four bucks, but what can I do with a spare half quart?
That's okay. On Monday, after testing tires all day and getting the message that she wanted to be driven harder to put heat into those mega-gumballs, we spent half an hour together in open session. Not to gush, but it is a delight for a big man to be driving a car at race speeds that is not made sluggish by my 200 lbs. Those little formula cars are darlings, but they did grunt a little when I'd get in. Not this car. Lap after lap, we came around the skidpad at Streets of Willow and accelerated up the straight overwhelming everyone except the occasional Turbo and GT3. It's like everyone else would slow down to let us catch up in the twisty bits (love these tires) and then just park to admire us departing down the front straight. I suppose 50 or 60 mph does not qualify as parking speeds to the pedantic, but it did look deceptively like standing still from the seat of this car.
Apparently, to keep her happy, I'll have to find a track periodically where she can gobble a dozen gallons of premium -- and a half quart of oil. You certainly don't realize what a fast lady she is anywhere less demanding than a race track.
Gary, looking forward to a long relationship
That's okay. On Monday, after testing tires all day and getting the message that she wanted to be driven harder to put heat into those mega-gumballs, we spent half an hour together in open session. Not to gush, but it is a delight for a big man to be driving a car at race speeds that is not made sluggish by my 200 lbs. Those little formula cars are darlings, but they did grunt a little when I'd get in. Not this car. Lap after lap, we came around the skidpad at Streets of Willow and accelerated up the straight overwhelming everyone except the occasional Turbo and GT3. It's like everyone else would slow down to let us catch up in the twisty bits (love these tires) and then just park to admire us departing down the front straight. I suppose 50 or 60 mph does not qualify as parking speeds to the pedantic, but it did look deceptively like standing still from the seat of this car.
Apparently, to keep her happy, I'll have to find a track periodically where she can gobble a dozen gallons of premium -- and a half quart of oil. You certainly don't realize what a fast lady she is anywhere less demanding than a race track.
Gary, looking forward to a long relationship
+1 And she pays!
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