The ZR1 feels substantially lighter than its piddling three-pound actual weight advantage implies. It feels smaller and more agile, though its wheelbase is a yawning 6.9 inches longer.

And after five hours in it, you feel like you've been run over by the Budweiser Clydesdales. Your ears ring, your head pounds, and your heart palpitates. If you don't wear socks, you might even brand red rings into your ankles with the side pipes.

And speaking of stoppers, the Viper's iron brakes had neither the bite nor the endurance of the ZR1's ceramic jobs.

Certain refinements, such as the ZR1's self-regulating magnetorheological shocks, plus many more decades of developement pay off in a feeling of heightened sophistication. Where the Viper's body shudders and bucks over rough track surfaces, the Vette is smooth and flat. Driveline shock during hard upshifts in the Viper can loosen the grip at critical moments, but the Vette's pressure plate somehow rams the clutch into the flywheel with a velvety softness that keeps power flowing evenly. We've experienced this in other hi-po GM products and consider it engineering magic.