Okay. So, I'm probably a doof for not figuring this out before. I mean, I have run in Comp mode before - just not RUN.

As you all know, my LS3 is LG fortified and produces somewhere around 600 ponies (maybe 620 on a good day). My ventures are short runs here and there, with the throttle bursts being quick aspirations while merging onto the federal travel space or a short-lived blip along a back country road with just enough loud pipe eminence to sharpen the ears of the bovine audience.

Well, today I switched the fun-button to "all attention" and proceeded to engage the pavement in a tug-of-war that I am still unsure who won. I ran through second rather liesurely - taking the revs to a comfortable point of transition and handing the accumulation of speed and assuredly building mechanical resonance to third.

Upon releasing the LS3's previously unknown violence of spirited stallions, I was curiously caught unaware of the vette's potential, if not deliberate intentions, as the pavement before me was pulled effortlessly toward me. I held my ground and steadfast courage on the throttle as the engine raged and the unbridled exhaust roared to resonance of nearly unbearable course. I glanced at the instruments - all fleeting to untold readings as the beast surged forward, urging the next gear.

As the clutch engaged fourth, and the rage re-directed, I glimpsed the reading of speed - far beyond the allowable limits. Had magistrates of previous corvette eras established the boundaries, I might have continued the venture.

Of what I know, for the Corvette, set boundaries and don't cross them.

 

Your post reads like one of those dime ROMANCE NOVELS....

 

 

It was a dark and stormy night...

 

BWaaaaaa. Priceless.

Are you up on the Bulwer-Lytton contest? Some pretty good laughs available there.

http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/index.html

I especially like the 2009 winner.

Folks say that if you listen real close at the height of the full moon, when the wind is blowin’ off Nantucket Sound from the nor’east and the dogs are howlin’ for no earthly reason, you can hear the awful screams of the crew of the “Ellie May,” a sturdy whaler captained by John McTavish; for it was on just such a night when the rum was flowin’ and, Davey Jones be damned, big John brought his men on deck for the first of several screaming contests. — David McKenzie, Federal Way, WA

 

Gerald began – but was interrupted by a piercing whistle which cost him ten percent of his hearing permanently, as it did everyone else in a ten-mile radius of the eruption, not that it mattered much because for them “permanently” meant the next ten minutes or so until buried by searing lava or suffocated by choking ash – to pee. — Jim Gleeson, Madison,

 

That was an entertaining read but I don't understand how that applies to comp mode?

 

I thought it was just me, so I reread to see if I missed something.
I didn't.

 

 

Sound like the architect from The Matrix. You have the bovine bystanders spellbound!!

 

 

And you approve that message..

 

Acknowledging you are "probably a doof" is the first step toward recovery.

 

Glad you had fun, but man, your description of the event was a bit hard to swallow. Plain old English next time please.

 

Cool story?

 

Great another crazy driver/

 

now I REALLY don't know if I should take the blue pill, or the red one

 

 

Roll another one! Thats some interesting reading on this Sunday morning.