INTRO
Street racing team, Forest Angle R, has begun its first practice runs of the season on Bristol Pass. However, they encounter an extremely skilled newcomer driving a strange 70's era import who completely outmaneuvers them.
1. Forest Angle Rendezvous
The locals call it Bristol Notch Pass. A small series of hairpin corners on VT-17 weaving through the Stark Mountain range dividing Washington and Chittenden counties in the state of Vermont, USA. The only public road of its kind in all of New England, it's a rarely known gem for driving enthusiasts. Most days and nights, there is generally little traffic through this beautiful yet dangerous pass, but this Saturday night in early May, the pristine darkness will soon awaken. From the overlook parking lot across from the tall radio tower at the Peak of Stark Mountain, the stars above barely illuminate the landscape. The surrounding cliffs stand like sentinels in the darkness, overlooking the serene lake beneath the pass. The air is crisp, clear and silent, absent of the normal sound of rustling leaves and activities of creatures. This early in May, Vermont is still very cool.
Then, suddenly a pair or combating screeching rubber sounds start echoing in the distance, gradually getting louder and closer. The howling notes of two exhausts complement and report the screeches. Soon, a pair of headlights reveals a straightaway below the parking lot in the distance. The engine exhausts amplify and a white sports car is revealed as the source of these headlights, rocketing up the straightaway. Then, the second car's headlights whip around the corner before the straightaway, revealing that it's a smaller, older, and boxier black sports car. Instantly, the leading car's brake lights illuminate the trees around it in crimson red as it takes the sharp 90-degree corner at the end of the straightaway. The chasing car closes in as the leading car slows and the two cars disappear one behind the other.
There are then much louder screeching sounds as the vehicles maneuver through a hidden twisty road course, out of view from the parking lot. Suddenly, the leading white larger sports car appears on the bottom of the final and incredibly steep stretch before the parking lot and starts rocketing up. Right behind the leading car is the chaser, desperately howling to keep up. Then, suddenly the leading car's rear tires lock for a split second, and starts to slide sideways, as it's nose whips towards the parking lot. As it continues to slide sideways, the speed rapidly burns off and eventually stops on the crest of the hill. Right behind it, the black chasing car mimics the exact same motions, gliding and stopping much earlier than the heavier white car. With their noses both pointed to the parking lot, they roll ahead and parked next to the overlook. The hot idling engines shut down and two young men step out of their respective cockpits.
"Damn, what's wrong, bro? You can't keep up with me anymore!" said the young pilot of the white car. He's wearing a dark red collared shirt over a plain white t-shirt. His baggy tan khakis are leaning against the angular aggressive white sheet metal of his car.
"Dunno, man. Ever since I installed that new clutch and flywheel, my S13's had a tougher time keeping up on the hill climb," replied the other driver, a young man with blonde spiky hair. He was wearing a dark blue long sleeve t-shirt with a logo displaying the name NISMO in bright white letters, with only the O in bright red.
"Shit, man, what the hell did you do? You sure you didn't have any spare parts after installing your new shit?"
"Of course I installed it right, dumbass! My engine revs so much better now, but for some reason, it gets dogged a lot easier too. It's a tradeoff, I guess."
"It's alright. By the end of summer, I'll be so far ahead, that you won't even see my taillights," proclaimed the driver of the white car, which bore the name 300ZX on the center of its tail cluster.
"Go right on ahead, bro. Cause on the downhill, you'll never catch me neither," replied the driver of the older black car, which wore white badge on the center of the black trunk bearing the name Silvia.
"Touché. As it stands now, we're both undefeated in your specialty runs on this mountain. Ha! We're the Kings of Stark Mountain!"
"Of course, we have such lame competition. I'd like to prove that I'm the best on this downhill run. You're just so easy to outrun, how am I supposed to get any better?"
"Pfft, just watch, by the end of fall, I'll be the fastest on the team, both ways. But, yeah, I know what you're saying. The scene out here sucks. We need to move Forest Angle R out of Vermont and go out West where the real touge is."
"I know what you're saying, dude. How can we get any better going against high school ricers and muscle-headed rednecks? As far as owning me, you first gotta get your girlfriend's ass out of that passenger seat when you actually do battle. Once you put your attention on the road, you drive a lot better. Besides, you'll weigh less, considering the portliness of your Z32 already."
"The hell, man? You calling both my girls fat? At least someone appreciates my mad technique! Only ones who appreciate yours are the posers that race us." In disgust, Mr. 300ZX glances down at his watch, which reads 10:05 PM. "He's already five minutes late. Fucking posers. Speaking of posers, thanks for not bringing your little brother."
"Dude, take that back! I was just like him when I was his age! Only reason why he's not here tonight is because no one was home. Both he and Mom are gone. I think they were finally looking at a car for him."
"Yeah he's gotta hold Mommy's hand so he can go find some rear drive drift car and race up here with us. Little dork. He should be learning how to drive, first. He's gonna end up killing himself," heckled Mr. 300ZX.
"Jesus, you're condescending. But I can see why Mom's overseeing all of this. Get this, she wants him to drive up front so he doesn't try to catch up to us and crash. Bless her heart for letting him do this, but I agree with you. He needs to learn basics first."
"Either way, I don't look forward to waiting around for his slow ass." He glanced down at his watch again and read 10:07 PM. "What the hell's up with this guy? I've been itching for a hill climb battle tonight, but I'm thinking of racing you back down instead. If he hasn't shown up by now, I don't think he'll be coming."
"I think you spooked him when you issued your challenge like a deranged asshole."
"I think he really pissed his pants when I lit up the tires pulling outta there."
"It was pretty funny seeing his face as you smoked out of there. But, c'mon, Pete! Your challengers almost never show up. You always egg them on too much and they thing you're some kind of psycho! Sometimes you just gotta chill and respect the other driver to show up, not anger him till he writes you off as some dick," contemplated the NISMO kid.
"Whatever. It's my style. If the challenger pussies out, he's not worth my time," replied the 300ZX kid, Pete.
NISMO boy opens up the driver door to his black Silvia and looks towards Pete with a smirk on his lip.
"Last one down is a spoiled rich trust fund baby!"
"More like last one down is driving a slow ass Ford Taurus!" egged on Pete.
"Ouch! I know my S13 resembles that old piece of shit car, but man, that friggen hurts! Them is fightin' words!" Yelled back NISMO boy.
Both drivers quickly jump in their respective vehicles and slam their doors, awakening their modified exhaust pipes. Then the double clunk of changing gears initiates both sets of rear wheels to chirp backwards, zipping the cars back towards the crest of the hill. They both straighten out, clunking again into forward first gear. Pete glanced over to NISMO boy and starts to rev up his V6 twin turbo with a surging growl. The Silvia next to him responds by revving up its JDM 2 liter turbo engine. The 300ZX bolts off first, squealing its fat rear tires for seven feet. As soon as he sees Pete's front bumper lift off the ground, NISMO boy drops the clutch and mashes the accelerator to the floor.
©2005, Marc Gabriel Palardy, All Rights Reserved
