College essay, A Kill Story, Yall Texans' might like this one!
10-26-2005, 12:40 AM
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College essay, A Kill Story, Yall Texans' might like this one! Before you read this, I made all this up. My teacher is 50 years old and knows nothing about cars, so I thought I would exaggerate alittle bit. I don't even know if some of the places ( Houston race way) exist. Or if there is a lingenfelter stage 2 twin turbo kit, but it sounds good. 
Enjoy!
A Racer’s Dream
It was a beautiful day in the middle of August, about 80 degrees outside. I had just finished tuning on my Camaro, and was giving it a wash. While I was washing my car I was listening to 103.3 KDF, and as I was cleaning the inside, a representative for Nitto came on the air and explained the event his company was going to be sponsoring over the weekend. It was going to be some sort of Camaro/Mustang face off in the heart of Texas, which makes sense because, well, Texan’s don’t play around when it comes to fast cars. As soon as the broadcast was over I immediately called my buddy Jonny to see if he wanted to chip in some gas money, and help drive down there. “Sure man I’m off this weekend, and my girl-friend’s going to church camp, so count me in.” Jonny, the guy that’s going with me is my best friend, and we’ve been friends for almost 13 years now; he’s a big mustang fan, and I’m a huge Camaro fanatic, so we both favor a similar hobby.
Every time Jonny and I hit the interstate, we always got into races with ricers (Japanese cars), so we knew if we were driving 500 miles, it was destine that we run into one. We flipped a coin to see who would be driving their car, “You lose,” Jonny said.
“O well, at least we won’t have to worry about losing to an import in my Z-28,” I said sarcastically. First, we jumped onto 40 west at about 8 o’clock that night; I made Jonny keep his eyes peeled for any kind of competition. “There’s one!” he said frantically, “Catch up with him, I think it’s an EVO!” I looked down and I was already going a hundred mile per hour, but the thought of beating an all- wheel drive 320 horse-power import just made my day. “We can’t afford to lose this one; how much nitrous do we have left?” I asked.
“I believe we still have one spray; it should give us a 200 horse-power kick since I installed the bigger injectors needed for the extra power,” he said. As I began to pull up next to the import Jonny stuck his hand out the window to get the guy’s attention. “Wanna race?” Jonny yelled.
The guy replied with assurance, “If you can keep up.” By then we were side by side; I proceeded to do the old tradition that initiates a race on the interstate. Honk, Honk, Honk! At first, the Evo started to pull away, but after I pushed the nitrous button it was over. I began to pull away from him about one car length every second until I let off at one-hundred and seventy miles per hour. “What a rush,” I said, “He thought he had me.” After the race, things started to cool down and I lowered the speed to about eighty until we made it to Arkansas. When I made it about half way through Arkansas, I woke Jonny up and traded spots with him.
We arrived at the Houston Drag-Strip at about 8 o’clock Saturday morning. “What time do the races start?” I asked.
“I think the announcer said they were gonna start at ten, so I’m just gonna go back to the car and get some rest. Hold on, what’s all that racket; lets go check it out.” Jonny said impatiently. On the way, I had to stop and get some water because my dad had called my cell phone and said, “Better drink plenty of water; you don’t wanna be another casualty to the heat. Oh, and be careful, I want you to come home in one piece.” After we had gotten a sip of water, we continued pacing ourselves to the end of the strip. Finally we had made it; the noise was coming from a tubbed-out 2002 SS Camaro. What made this car so loud was the 750 cubic inch motor that was running without mufflers. As we walked around the car, I noticed a whistling sound. “What is that noise?” Jonny asked.
“Do you not see the stage 2 turbo’s wrapped under the hood,” I said anxiously. I could tell the mechanic was about to do something unexpected, because all the crew members stepped back from the car and held their ears. Jonny and I on the other hand were too caught up in the cars beauty and curves to step back in our time of ecstasy. Imagine yourself arm length away to a seven-forty-seven about to take off, and that was the sound that roared from the turbo’s; Jonny and I jumped back and held our ears as the motor revved higher, and higher. The motor turned to the point that I had to turn around and duck, because of the thought of a nitrous backfire or explosion.
After the tuning session was finished I crawled under the “No Crossing” line and began a closer inspection of the 3000 horse-power demon. I first examined the interior, it consisted of an aluminum fabricated shell, and the roll cage was made out of carbon fiber; which cut down the weight enormously. I then looked at the instrument panel where the tack lay, “I can’t believe it, 10,000 RPM is the red-line,” I said. Jonny looked at me like I was on drugs, “If you don’t believe me, look for yourself,” I told him. He peeked in the car, and then looked back at me with golf-ball like eyes. Next, I focused all my attention on the motor; it had a Lingenfelter twin turbo kit, pumping 25 pounds of boost per turbo. As I looked closer, the valve covers read 750 cubic inches, with nitrous solenoids strapped down beside them. “This guy wasn’t playing around when he built the car,” I thought to myself.
After I saw all the goodies this car had, I couldn’t wait to see it on the track, and neither could Jonny. As soon as we saw the driver get into the car we started betting what he was going to run. “It’s only an eighth mile track, and there is a possibility that because of the humidity it will just spin because of the track temperatures. “Usually on a good day, a car with the amount of power this one is putting out will run in the mid four’s at about 180 MPH, so that’s my gander; what about yourself?” I asked.
“Uh, I’m gonna say 4.70 at 150 MPH,” Jonny said. As we made our way to the stands, all of us heard the car start up and rumble its way to the lane, its whistle was so perfect and defined; we just knew it was going to be a run that we will never forget. As I looked off in the distance, I could see the bright orange Camaro; it had just gone through the water box and was beginning to melt the tires in a break stand.
I was standing at the bottom of the bleachers with my video camera hoping to get a better view of the car as it sped down the track. I stood there anxiously waiting for the Camaro to stage at the tree. He finally pulled up to the line; as the second light flashed, the tree started to drop. Yellow, yellow, yellow, green! For about half the track, until the driver shifted into second gear, both front tires were a foot and a half off the ground. When the car passed me I didn’t have time to turn the camera; it was almost as if I was following a shooting star wondering where it went. As the spectators and I looked at the time, there was uproar in applause. The Camaro had just beaten the record for the fastest car that had ever gone down the eighth mile with a ten and a half-inch slick. It demolished the old record; running a 3.10 at 220 MPH.
As I walked to the front of the strip where Jonny was waiting on me, I saw the orange Camaro parked with a crowd of people around it. I made my way over to it hoping to congratulate the driver. I pushed my way through the crowd and stood up next to the record holder; I gave him a pat on the back and asked, “How’s it feel to go 220 MPH in just over 3 seconds?”
“Words can’t describe how I feel right now, this has been a dream of mine ever since I was a little boy, and I couldn’t have done it with out all the love and support of family and friends.”
Hope you liked it! Got an A.
Enjoy!
A Racer’s Dream
It was a beautiful day in the middle of August, about 80 degrees outside. I had just finished tuning on my Camaro, and was giving it a wash. While I was washing my car I was listening to 103.3 KDF, and as I was cleaning the inside, a representative for Nitto came on the air and explained the event his company was going to be sponsoring over the weekend. It was going to be some sort of Camaro/Mustang face off in the heart of Texas, which makes sense because, well, Texan’s don’t play around when it comes to fast cars. As soon as the broadcast was over I immediately called my buddy Jonny to see if he wanted to chip in some gas money, and help drive down there. “Sure man I’m off this weekend, and my girl-friend’s going to church camp, so count me in.” Jonny, the guy that’s going with me is my best friend, and we’ve been friends for almost 13 years now; he’s a big mustang fan, and I’m a huge Camaro fanatic, so we both favor a similar hobby.
Every time Jonny and I hit the interstate, we always got into races with ricers (Japanese cars), so we knew if we were driving 500 miles, it was destine that we run into one. We flipped a coin to see who would be driving their car, “You lose,” Jonny said.
“O well, at least we won’t have to worry about losing to an import in my Z-28,” I said sarcastically. First, we jumped onto 40 west at about 8 o’clock that night; I made Jonny keep his eyes peeled for any kind of competition. “There’s one!” he said frantically, “Catch up with him, I think it’s an EVO!” I looked down and I was already going a hundred mile per hour, but the thought of beating an all- wheel drive 320 horse-power import just made my day. “We can’t afford to lose this one; how much nitrous do we have left?” I asked.
“I believe we still have one spray; it should give us a 200 horse-power kick since I installed the bigger injectors needed for the extra power,” he said. As I began to pull up next to the import Jonny stuck his hand out the window to get the guy’s attention. “Wanna race?” Jonny yelled.
The guy replied with assurance, “If you can keep up.” By then we were side by side; I proceeded to do the old tradition that initiates a race on the interstate. Honk, Honk, Honk! At first, the Evo started to pull away, but after I pushed the nitrous button it was over. I began to pull away from him about one car length every second until I let off at one-hundred and seventy miles per hour. “What a rush,” I said, “He thought he had me.” After the race, things started to cool down and I lowered the speed to about eighty until we made it to Arkansas. When I made it about half way through Arkansas, I woke Jonny up and traded spots with him.
We arrived at the Houston Drag-Strip at about 8 o’clock Saturday morning. “What time do the races start?” I asked.
“I think the announcer said they were gonna start at ten, so I’m just gonna go back to the car and get some rest. Hold on, what’s all that racket; lets go check it out.” Jonny said impatiently. On the way, I had to stop and get some water because my dad had called my cell phone and said, “Better drink plenty of water; you don’t wanna be another casualty to the heat. Oh, and be careful, I want you to come home in one piece.” After we had gotten a sip of water, we continued pacing ourselves to the end of the strip. Finally we had made it; the noise was coming from a tubbed-out 2002 SS Camaro. What made this car so loud was the 750 cubic inch motor that was running without mufflers. As we walked around the car, I noticed a whistling sound. “What is that noise?” Jonny asked.
“Do you not see the stage 2 turbo’s wrapped under the hood,” I said anxiously. I could tell the mechanic was about to do something unexpected, because all the crew members stepped back from the car and held their ears. Jonny and I on the other hand were too caught up in the cars beauty and curves to step back in our time of ecstasy. Imagine yourself arm length away to a seven-forty-seven about to take off, and that was the sound that roared from the turbo’s; Jonny and I jumped back and held our ears as the motor revved higher, and higher. The motor turned to the point that I had to turn around and duck, because of the thought of a nitrous backfire or explosion.
After the tuning session was finished I crawled under the “No Crossing” line and began a closer inspection of the 3000 horse-power demon. I first examined the interior, it consisted of an aluminum fabricated shell, and the roll cage was made out of carbon fiber; which cut down the weight enormously. I then looked at the instrument panel where the tack lay, “I can’t believe it, 10,000 RPM is the red-line,” I said. Jonny looked at me like I was on drugs, “If you don’t believe me, look for yourself,” I told him. He peeked in the car, and then looked back at me with golf-ball like eyes. Next, I focused all my attention on the motor; it had a Lingenfelter twin turbo kit, pumping 25 pounds of boost per turbo. As I looked closer, the valve covers read 750 cubic inches, with nitrous solenoids strapped down beside them. “This guy wasn’t playing around when he built the car,” I thought to myself.
After I saw all the goodies this car had, I couldn’t wait to see it on the track, and neither could Jonny. As soon as we saw the driver get into the car we started betting what he was going to run. “It’s only an eighth mile track, and there is a possibility that because of the humidity it will just spin because of the track temperatures. “Usually on a good day, a car with the amount of power this one is putting out will run in the mid four’s at about 180 MPH, so that’s my gander; what about yourself?” I asked.
“Uh, I’m gonna say 4.70 at 150 MPH,” Jonny said. As we made our way to the stands, all of us heard the car start up and rumble its way to the lane, its whistle was so perfect and defined; we just knew it was going to be a run that we will never forget. As I looked off in the distance, I could see the bright orange Camaro; it had just gone through the water box and was beginning to melt the tires in a break stand.
I was standing at the bottom of the bleachers with my video camera hoping to get a better view of the car as it sped down the track. I stood there anxiously waiting for the Camaro to stage at the tree. He finally pulled up to the line; as the second light flashed, the tree started to drop. Yellow, yellow, yellow, green! For about half the track, until the driver shifted into second gear, both front tires were a foot and a half off the ground. When the car passed me I didn’t have time to turn the camera; it was almost as if I was following a shooting star wondering where it went. As the spectators and I looked at the time, there was uproar in applause. The Camaro had just beaten the record for the fastest car that had ever gone down the eighth mile with a ten and a half-inch slick. It demolished the old record; running a 3.10 at 220 MPH.
As I walked to the front of the strip where Jonny was waiting on me, I saw the orange Camaro parked with a crowd of people around it. I made my way over to it hoping to congratulate the driver. I pushed my way through the crowd and stood up next to the record holder; I gave him a pat on the back and asked, “How’s it feel to go 220 MPH in just over 3 seconds?”
“Words can’t describe how I feel right now, this has been a dream of mine ever since I was a little boy, and I couldn’t have done it with out all the love and support of family and friends.”
Hope you liked it! Got an A.
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10-26-2005, 11:25 AM
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We definitely had different teachers, becasue I never had a cool teacher like tha while at TNTech. Nice story. I would have given you a 100, if you had made it a Corvette.
10-26-2005, 02:42 PM
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Oh well, I only know basics about turbos, not what their called or named, and knew my teacher didn't either. If I had more time I probably would have researched them,
but I didn't.
but I didn't.
10-27-2005, 11:11 AM
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OK, first of all, you have a great imagination, you really worked up some cool ideas there. However (and I am no expert, BTW) I just had a hard time following where you were and who was saying what each time. I am sure you made a good grade, but had you just been a little more descriptive and easy to follow, it would have been a definite "100" essay.
Again, I am no expert, just trying to help. I have always been able to put words on paper well and make very good grades in English, so I am just offering some constructive criticism!
Best of luck in school man!
Taco
Again, I am no expert, just trying to help. I have always been able to put words on paper well and make very good grades in English, so I am just offering some constructive criticism!
Best of luck in school man!
Taco
10-27-2005, 03:15 PM
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Originally Posted by Taco
OK, first of all, you have a great imagination, you really worked up some cool ideas there. However (and I am no expert, BTW) I just had a hard time following where you were and who was saying what each time. I am sure you made a good grade, but had you just been a little more descriptive and easy to follow, it would have been a definite "100" essay.
Again, I am no expert, just trying to help. I have always been able to put words on paper well and make very good grades in English, so I am just offering some constructive criticism!
Best of luck in school man!
Taco
Again, I am no expert, just trying to help. I have always been able to put words on paper well and make very good grades in English, so I am just offering some constructive criticism!
Best of luck in school man!
Taco