Day 1.
"It's not quite done, yet" said Peter Farrell, "but it'll be all right for you to drive around this weekend. I haven't got it tuned for wide-open throttle, but you won't be using that, anyway. You've only got 3 pounds boost, but you won't need more than that. Did I mention that the tach's not accurate? It thinks you have 4 cylinders, and you have 6."
I nodded cheerfully while thinking, "Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. Gimme the car!"
Peter had agreed to give my car a "3-day pass" for the 4th-of-July weekend. It was understood that it was still a work in progress. Since I had been suffering from serious convertible withdrawal, I didn't care.
Peter and I took the car for a short drive. It feels kind of like a very smooth, small-block V8. Throttle response is very quick. With such a small amount of boost, the turbos are not really noticeable. In the past, Peter has mentioned that the 20B feels much different, because it starts out with so much more torque. It's stouter at the low end than the 3rd gen. In the mid-range, it builds more smoothly - without the sudden rush of the 3rd gen's 2nd turbo.
John Duff and I listened to the exhaust note as the car was pulled into the shop for some last-minute attention. He and Peter had been telling me that the car was surprisingly quiet compared to the other 20Bs. The sound is low and mellow. We were trying to classify it, and it came to me that it sounds kind of like the Righteous Brothers recording of "Ol' Man River". Think of Bill Medley's sonorous drone on the first note, "Oooool'". That's it.
Ten minutes after leaving PFS, I'm driving north on Hwy. 28, a divided highway with three wide lanes on each side, and I pull up to a light. There beside me is a bright, screaming-red Ferrari 308 with a cute blonde behind the wheel. A little voice begins keening in my ear, "Don't do this, George. The car's on break-in. Don't do this, George. You've only got 3 pounds boost. Don't do this, George. That's a Ferrari, for chrissakes! Don't..."
I did this.
Don't tell Peter.
In first gear, the Ferrari pulled ahead by a car-length (Hey, I've only had the car for 10 minutes. Give me a break.) In second gear, I caught up. In third gear, I passed it. In fourth gear, the Ferrari gave up. In all fairness, her Sugar Daddy probably bought the car for her, and she didn't know what to do with it all, but, still, it's an auspicious beginning.
And then it began to rain.
Did I mention that the windshield wipers weren't hooked up?
John and I had been joking that, if it rained, I could just keep dry by driving 80 mph. Being cute, I said, "Yeah, but by Murphy's Law, there'll be a traffic light."
The light turned red.
Objectively, the top on a 2nd gen convertible goes up very quickly. Subjectively, it _seems_ like a long time when it's raining.
With my spirits (and other things) dampened, I continued my journey home. Looking at the gas gauge, I noticed I'd already used a quarter-tank. I guess if you're gonna play whoop-a$$ on Ferraris, it's gonna cost. I stopped for gas and had to calculate how much I could put in, since I had only a part of a bottle of 2-cycle oil to mix in. Did I mention that the oil-metering pump isn't hooked up yet?
I pulled out of the station on to Hwy. 15 N. at the point where it's a 2-lane twisty road with no legal passing zone and found myself behind some guy in a bright, mid-life-crisis-red Z3. He played the painted cat to my Pepe LePew. What fun! He couldn't get away under any circumstances. I had worried that putting the big motor in the car might unbalance it. This is not a problem.
The Z3 pulled off to get gas, and I was feelin' good, so I treated myself to a Big Ol' RC Cola (In the South, you don't just have an 'RC', you have a "Big Ol' RC Cola, and I was still in Virginia.)
I crossed the Potomac and the sun came out. The top went down, and life was good, dear Lord, very, very good.
I got to I-70 and cruising at about 70 mph in the right lane. I think it was about 70. Did I mention that the speedometer isn't right, since I have a TII rear end and 15" wheels?
I was passed by a bright, red Porsche 944 doing about 85 mph, so I...
let him go. This is I-70 in Maryland on the 4th-of-July weekend. The only thing the troopers like better than doughnuts are sports cars.
Finally, I got to my turn off, Hwy 27. It's a curvy, well-paved country highway with passing zones measured in microns. It's where I learned to really appreciate the 3rd gen. I found, with it, than any passing zone is sufficient. Coming off the freeway, I was last in line behind a tractor-trailer and six cars - all of which were in no hurry. At the first passing zone, I dropped it into third gear.
Read this aloud, clearly and distinctly-> "third gear three-quarter throttle, fourth gear three-quarter throttle, fifth gear three-quarter throttle."
In just about that much time, I passed four cars. I picked off the other two and the truck at my leisure. With only 3 pounds boost, the car has about 300 hp (roughly), so the passing performance was on a par with the 3rd gen.
As I drove through town, I noticed many guys ogling the front end. It has the Mode 5 nose from Mariah Motorsports plus a lot of custom ductwork. Coming at you, it looks pretty serious.
Overall, I am very pleased. Peter and Mitch have wrought well. The car is a joy to drive as is. I never gave it more than 3/4-throttle, and it didn't need more. When the boost is quadrupled, it should be ecstasy...or terror.
Day 2.
Early on July 3, Dave Lane and I met on the shore of Loch Raven to plumb the mysteries of the 20B. (Nice dramatic beginning, eh?) Looking at the engine compartment, he said, "Looks pretty PFS." That's it, in a nutshell. If you've seen the red, powder-coated PFS parts mixed with shiny, aluminum gizmos, you've got a good idea of what my engine compartment looks like.
At first, Dave agreed with my comment about the motor feeling like a small-block V8. After a bit of driving, though, he changed his mind. With a friend's SVT Mustang for comparison, he decided that, it felt better. Am I going to argue?
He threw it around a number of fine, twisty roads in northern Baltimore County and agreed that the handling had not been adversely affected at all. The only problem we ran into is that getting the boost gauge anywhere north of zero required considerable commitment and open road. Darn.
We spent a lot of time demonstrating our commitment. =) ...and being grateful for Dave's Valentine One. Whether we were flogging down country lanes or ripping around the Baltimore Beltway, the car was a joy to drive. After a time, Dave summed it up by saying, "You've just lightened the car...a lot." That's a good way of putting it. I jokingly said, "Sure, it's a little heavier, but it carries it well." If you ever liked the way a convertible drives, you would be deeply, passionately, uncontrollably in love with this.
After dropping Dave off, I headed home - the long, twisty back way. When I got there, my wife could no longer contain her curiosity and demanded a chance to drive it. She soon disagreed with Dave and I about the car handling as well as ever. She thinks it handles better. There are times when it's best not to argue with one's wife.
We tore up Salem Bottom Road, which is normally a delightful 2nd-3rd gear exercise in the 13B-powered convertible. With the new-found excess of torque, I plopped it in fourth and gave my left foot a rest most of the way. Jim Hagerty had told me that I would almost forget how to shift. I can see that as a real hazard, one that I'll try to avoid.
That 's the first 300 miles.
Day3.
Independence Day - I thought I'd inject a few fireworks into the kids lives, so I took my 18-year-old son out and let him drive the 20B. I thought he was going to paralyze himself trying to keep his foot out of it. (gotta look responsible with Dad in the car) His first reaction was to try to open up a dialogue about getting a car of his own. I reminded him that "Lust" is one of the 7 deadly sins.
My 22-year-old had a couple of comments. The first was, "I wish my 300ZX handled like this car." The second, after he finally got into the boost and I explained that it would be quadrupled in the final version, was, "My God, we would have ended up over there." pointing to the center of a corn field a half mile away.
After reading John Becker's letter and the subsequent replies, let me toss this into the discussion: John is and has always been right. This is the car that Mazda should have produced. If Mazda had produced the 20B convertible (using only the 5 pounds boost that the Cosmo has), the Porsche 986, the 6-cylinder Z3 and the Corvette convertible would have been dogmeat in the marketplace.
OTOH, Mazda would have had a problem with meeting its CAFE requirements due to selling so many of the cars. I haven't measured my gas mileage closely, but it appears, by quick and dirty calculations, that I'm only getting 12 mpg at best. I'll provide a more precise number at a later time.
A lot of the driving around I've done has been searching for Silkoleen Comp 2 motorcycle oil. It's what Peter recommended for my pre-mix. No one seems to carry it locally. Anyone know where I can get it cheap?
The problem that I had feared with the Mode 5 nose has surfaced: It catches peoples' eyes too well - especially police eyes. Every time I pass a cop, I am subjected to intense scrutiny. I am perfecting my "ain't nothing wrong happenin' here" grin. I'm going to have to get back to Dave about the virtues of a Valentine One, I think.
The only other problem is the heat. Come Thanksgiving, I know how to prepare the turkey: put it on the floor on the passenger's side. I may have to rig up one of those ugly tubes you see on NASCAR stockers to get fresh air to the driver. As it is now, I'll have to drive around with the A/C on, even with the top down.
In the evening, I headed off to where the Middle River meets the Chesapeake Bay for a Fourth-of-July party. The car performed flawlessly, if a bit warmly, and it was the center of attention for all the car guys at the party. The lust quotient was very high. The most common comment was, "I've never seen anything like that." Too right, brother, few people have.
Since I don't smoke, and was one of the few sober people for miles around, I was elected to put on the fireworks display. 8000 firecrackers and uncountable bombs, rockets and other stuff later, the display was judged a success (probably due more to Budweiser than esthetics), and I headed home. It was near midnight; the air had cooled down from the oven-like temperatures of the day; and I had to take the back way home due to the Maryland Gestapo's interdiction of the main highways. (I hadn't been drinking, but the annoyance of being stopped for no reason at all along with thousands of other law-abiding citizens gives rise to a homicidal rage, which would have spoiled a perfect evening.)
Taking the twisty's with the 20B roaring in my ears was the sort of Independence Day celebration that gives meaning to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness". Gas mileage suffered dramatically. ;-)
The car runs so well, now, that there is a temptation just to leave it alone. Multiplying the boost by 400% will only move its acceleration into the nosebleed range and probably force me to go for bigger wheels, tires and fenders. Ah, well, I knew the job was risky when I took it.
Day 4.
I set off for Frederick in search of the mythical Silkoleen oil. My wife said, "You don't need to drive there. Just call." Obviously, she didn't understand - I needed to _drive_ there. Since the troopers were cloaking I-70 like maggots on a dog dropping, I went by way of highways 75 and 26. 75 is another 2-lane country road with longer passing zones where triple-digit speeds are achievable...and achieved =)
The afternoon featured temperatures in the triple digits, as well. Peter had worried about the car's cooling capacity. Needlessly, it seems. The temperature gauge never wavered. However, the motor faltered at one point. It acted almost as though I had lost a rotor seal. When it started running right, again, so did my heart. Must have been something in the gasoline. The problem did not re-occur.
He had also worried about the car being so low. With the Tokico shocks and springs, it had always been low. The new nose, though, appeared to be at the right height for decapitating crickets. As long as I drove in a somewhat paranoid manner, I had no problems, but the nose dragged a couple of times today. I suppose some adjustable coilovers are in my future.
I found the oil at J & T Motorsports. $6.00 for a pint! Owning this car may be a real burden...12 miles to the gallon, a pint of Silkoleen for every tankful, and the cost of Depends for the passengers is likely to beggar me. ;-)
I went home by way of Thurmont (Camp David, for you Presidential historians) through the Catoctin Mountains. All those turns marked with the 20-25-30 mph warning signs were handled at 50-55-60 mph with aplomb. It was like the car was on rails. The abundant torque made downshifting necessary only for the fun of it.
Tomorrow, I have to return the car to PFS for the remaining details. I'll quit bothering you folks, now.