If you keep up with my current line of stories, you surely have read my other race with a 1998 Monte Carlo. I had severely messed that race up because I can't keep my damned hands to myself and kept dicking around with the tranny. Well, just the other night, friday night infact, I had a re-match with that very Monte Carlo. My great bro-hah Eric was behind the wheel. We're traveling down the 400, I'm in front. Around 50mph to be exact. Eric swings to the left lane after we merge from route 16, and he pins it. My reaction time is poor, and he gets a good jump on me. I stay on his rear bumper. We only had another mile to go before the 400 turned into route 16. After a while Eric let off the gas, and my Bronco passed him. We're now within a quarter of a mile of the exit. I ride the middle of the 400 because Eric tends to like being in front of the "pack" when we all drive. Now he can't be. Later on, by Subway Eric sways to the left lane, punches it and is up to my rear tires before I come to relization. I punch it; too late, he's already got momentum on his side. He takes me. A few miles later I'm kicking myself in the a$$ because I make it my goal to NOT let him pass me. My times comes. We are now near The Valley, a great bar to get some eat-you-alive wings at. I punch it, and hit the left lane. Eric punches it. The passenger door of my truck is at erics hoodline. We hold our places all the way up until the 80mph area. (Mind you the speed limit is 35 here, but the roads are empty and nobody was in sight.) Eric relizes that my work truck is simply too much for his econo car, and he lets off; I have won. I remain in the front of the "pack" the remainder of the way home.
Score another for the Bronco.