There she was, in all her beauty. She was parked on the corner just were I left her She looked good, She looked hotter than hell. Her shinning poppy red exterior, sparkling likes diamonds. All heads turned by the car’s stunning looks, all ears raised to the sound of the Hi-Po V8 289, equipped with a Paxton supercharger; a sound you just don’t hear but feel. A classic sign of American muscle. My Classic 1966 GT 350 “Shelby Mustang.”
I jumped into the bucket seats, stopping for a moment to observe the car/s beauty , before igniting the engine, only to be satisfied by that usual throaty growl. I eased the stang into first and rolled her out of the car park, towards a set of nearby traffic lights.
Here I stopped next to a 1973 Corvette stingray. The Corvette was a nice car, a real looker, and bright orange in colour. The man in the Corvette was about 50 years of age. He was a small man, bald and quite frankly looked harmless; well so I thought. Before I knew it, he looked over at me, giving me an aggressive look, at the same time revving his engine. The look he gave me could only be translated to one thing: He wanted to race.
The lights changed to green. Instinctively I slammed my foot on the accelerator, coming down on it like a ton of bricks, and sending the Stang leaping forward as if it was transformed into a wild mustang. The growl of the engine sent vibrations through my body. I was thrown back in my seat due to the force of the acceleration. Behind me I left a wall of smoke, and the smell of burning rubber.
In 4.5 seconds I was doing 60 mph, the Corvette growing smaller and smaller through the rear-view mirror. I was amazed. I was doing incredible speeds. At this stage objects out of the window gradually became streaks of colour. I was left unable to distinguish between objects, dodging parked cars and people, within the last millisecond. At those speeds I was enclosed in my own world. I no longer heard the outside world, but only the Magnum wheels screeching, gripping the road like glue.