This post originated from an RSS feed registered with Ruby Buzz
by Obie Fernandez.
Original Post: How fast will it go?
Feed Title: Obie On Rails (Has It Been 9 Years Already?)
Feed URL: http://jroller.com/obie/feed/entries/rss
Feed Description: Obie Fernandez talks about life as a technologist, mostly as ramblings about software development and consulting. Nowadays it's pretty much all about Ruby and Ruby on Rails.
Then he admitted to not changing its oil in eight years. I would have been less shocked if he had admitted, "I used to make out with my sister," or "I wore diapers until I was five," I mean, either would have been less embarrassing for a man to admit.
"So what are you gonna do? You need to get to work. And can you even afford a new car right now?"
"Well, I wanna try something different this time around and I figured I'd get your advice."
"Sure man, I know a thing or two about cars," I replied.
"So, first of all what's the top speed on your Nissan?" he asked. "Have you done anything to soup it up?"
I smiled at my 2 year-old shiny red Sentra Spec V, parked right outside the window. Even though a car to me is just a way to get around, I love my car. It's fun, cheap, and reliable.
"Well I had it waxed yesterday..."
"I can see that, but waxing don't make it faster," he spit back playfully.
I let my thoughts drift back a few months to a deserted strip of Interstate 20 in Alabama. "Well, I hit 120 once, or maybe it was closer to 130," I bragged, "It had at least a thousand revs or so left, so it would have gone faster if I had pushed it, but it's nuts to go that fast."
My heartrate had bumped up just thinking about it.
"And it's just a stock engine, right? How many horses?" asked Bob.
"Well it's got the 2.5 liter 4-banger," I told him. "Not too bad for a car its size. 180 horses will get you around town plenty quick."
I gulped my diet coke and continued.
"Hey man, it's not the strongest car in the world, but the thing drives like it's on rails!"
"Yeah, I hear you." Bob acknowledged what I was saying, "I've read really good things about that car, but some people say it's crap."
"Crap? Fuck them! Dude, this car's so much fun to drive and I don't ever have to worry about being late to work or getting stuck out on the side of the road, or spending hours trying to figure out why the fucking thing won't startup. Remember that one time on the perimeter, for chrissakes? I almost got killed."
We both chuckled.
"Seriously, you should consider getting one," I added.
Bob shifted and gave me his best getting down to business look. "Alright I hear you on the reliable transportation tip, but I'm ready to get serious about a couple of things. And I want to make the right decision, so I've been reading a ton of magazines and blogs. Researching and making a plan..."
"Yeah, you're killing me with the suspense. What are you thinking?"
"Well, a car like yours just doesn't have enough power, or maybe I should say potential. Maybe just for getting to work and driving around, sure. Maybe with some mods, maybe... but it's still going to be relatively slow, and I'm going to need serious speed."
He tilted his head a bit, and I could tell he was waiting for me to acknowledge him. The problem is that I didn't quite understand what he was talking about.
"Ummmmmmm, okay," I managed, and told him, "Well, there are some pretty good options for my car. I mean, outfitted in Mongrel aftermarket gear, it'll be plenty fast and still reliable." I stopped, and pointed a Rock-worthy eyebrow at him.
"Bobby, what the fuck are you talking about slow? First of all, my car is not fucking slow. Second of all, I just need to get around town with some style and fun and that's what you should be thinking if you're smart."
He didn't respond, so I piled on some more.
"What makes you think you need to go so fast anyway? You gonna start robbing banks?" I demanded. "As if you can drive more than 80 around here anyway. All you need is something to get you back and forth from work."
Bob's faced slowly widened into a toothy grin, which worried me. As he reached down for his bag and cleared his throat, he said "Awright, here's exactly what I'm talking about. I'm gonna build me a custom car..."
"I'm sorry," I interrupted, "but I didn't hear you very well. Did you just say you were going to build a car yourself?"
"Well, not by myself. I'll get Nancy and the kids to help, but that's besides the point. I just wanted your advice, hell, maybe you can even help me out if you're not too busy."
I nodded tentatively as he spilled parts catalogs, website printouts and even hand-drawn sketches across the table, and dived into his plan. "See here, if I pick and choose the best parts available, I'll have the best car of all. I've been sourcing everything I need, and man, when this baby is done it's gonna fly."
"You gonna put wings on it?" I quipped, which stopped him dead in his tracks for a sec.
"Huh? Oh, I get it. Haha, funny guy.. No, no, no. Listen to me, awright, I'm being serious here. This baby is gonna fly, meaning it's going to be fast, like NASCAR fast. Super fast like that. Lots of power!"
I reverted to speechless nodding, while he pulled a catalog out of the pile.
"Check out this JB AutoSports 5.0 liter engine with a SEAM transmission. They'll give it to you cheap if you buy a warranty, you know in case something goes wrong with it later they'll fix it for ya."
I wasn't quite listening. "Back up a second, man. You're telling me that instead of just getting a car that's ready to drive, you're planning to build your own car from scratch? That what you're telling me?"
Bob beamed at me. "Not entirely from scratch! I'm thinking that I'll strip down the Buick and build on its chassis. Fun, right?"
"Right. Fun." I muttered.
"These parts are all pretty cheap you know, just have to pick the right ones and make them work together."
I flipped through one of the glossier catalogs.
"Hey, nevermind that one," he said and pulled the Big Blue catalog from my hands, "too expensive and you get like a 100 DVDs with every purchase, total bullshit..."
He paused and changed his tone, "C'mon Obie, understand where I'm coming from. I know if I explain it right it'll make sense to you, of all people."
I didnt understand. Nope, not at all. There were so many problems with what he was describing that I didn't know where to begin. Or whether to even bother trying. It was like staring at an M.C. Escher painting and realizing you might as well just enjoy it for what it is.
"Right then," and he picked up what seemed to be the largest catalogs at all. "See here, these Apache people got almost everything you need, especially the less-important stuff like seats, and knobs and stuff. Oh and they make great tools. They have some engines and bigger stuff like that too, but not too many people go for those."
"Wait, did you just say seats aren't important?" I asked.
"See these here, I think these are the ones I'm gonna buy. Good price, eh?" Bob exclaimed and pointed out a set hideous-looking seats. They resembled one of those macaroni sculptures my 6 year-old occasionally brings home from school.
"Bob," I started, "those seats look terribly uncomfortable. How the heck are you going to drive around sitting in that? Your poor wife and kids! Your ass is gonna be sore like crazy!"
"Aw man, you're nitpicking. Seats just gotta be lightweight. Small price to pay for the raw performance I'm gonna have on tap when I need it. With the money I'm gonna save buying from Apache, I can afford some really expensive Tango Z-rated tires! Well not right away, but I'll need them to go really fast eventually, no doubt about that."
All this talk about needing to go fast wasn't making sense. "Did you say a minute ago that you were going to race? Is that why you need to go so fast?"
Bob chuckled and leaned in towards me. "I'll let you in on a little secret," he whispered conspiratorially, "I'm thinking of taking it to NASCAR, eventually."
"You mean you're gonna drive it to the racetrack?".
"Hell no boy, not just drive it there! Race it! Drive it myself too!" which made me start chuckling. "Well, I'm gonna go to one of them Petty race driver training before then, but all these years I've been watching every race and I think I got it all figured out. I'm gonna be rich once the racing teams come calling to buy me out!"
"Okay Bobby, so, let me get this alls straight. You've never built a car before, and you've never raced one either, but you think you're gonna build this one here." I picked up one of his fancier drawings, and regrouped my thoughts, "And, you're seriously thinking that you're gonna build this one here and race it in a NASCAR race, like down at the speedway or something?"
I think he was nodding, but I was looking at the drawing, not him. To my amazement, I noticed that there appeared to be a hitch sticking out of the back of the vehicle.
"Dude, what the flying fuck is this? Tell me this isn't a trailer hitch!"
"What? Why not? If you have a couple thousand horses, that there's some serious towing capacity. More than you could ever pull with your Niiii-san!"
Now I really started laughing out loud. Simply couldn't help it. Bob's plan was now officially the wackiest thing I'd ever heard in my life.
"Actually, it does sound like a plan, Bob. A grand plan." A grand, stark-raving mad plan, I thought to myself. Bob, who couldn't be bothered to change his oil, who was known to have trouble making it out of his subdivision safely, had dreams of competing in NASCAR, with a car he would build himself, no strike that, with his family.
I scanned the room for hidden cameras. Wouldn't you have too?
"So what do you think?" asked Bob.
When faced with absurdity of this magnitude, you can't try to tackle it whole. So I went for the low-hanging fruit, as much as I could grab. "Bob, building a car, especially a race car, is no small task. It would take months, if not longer, especially since you're not an experienced mechanic. In fact, fuck that, I'll venture to say that you'll never get anything roadworthy put together, and even if you did it would break down all the time and you'd need a huge team of engineers and mechanics just to keep it running. You can't even afford any of this plan, 'cause seriously man, what the hell are you going to drive to work in the meantime?"
A siren wailed outside, at a distance, and then faded. Time stopped, ever so briefly.
"Not going to work!" Bob snapped.
I practically yelled at him, "Geezus, you been putting me on this whole time?"
"Huh, no man, what the fuck? I mean I'm not gonna need to go to work cause I'm gonna take time off to build the car. I hate commuting anyway! I figure it'll take a month until I have a version that's driveable."
A month. Heh.
"Alrighty then, look at the time." I peered down at the non-existant watch on my wrist. As my grandma would say, "Crazy is contagious!", and I was feeling like it was time to back away from imminent danger here.
I said goodbye and wished him luck, adding "Man, I really think you'd be better off just getting a car like mine. I'll even sell you mine if you want or I can give you a ride to the office and back everyday. We take the same route anyway..."
"Thanks bro, but don't worry about it. You have your car there and it might work for you, but I have to do things my way. I just need more serious performance and speed than the average guy."
"Right. Dude, you know best. No worries. Say hi to Nancy for me," and I walked out towards the car.
As I was closing the door I heard him call out, "Hey red ain't my color anyway!"
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