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Tiger and the girl next door-some tiger content

To: tigers@autox.team.net
Subject: Tiger and the girl next door-some tiger content
From: CoolVT@aol.com
Date: Tue, 18 Dec 2001 17:46:55 EST
Members, sorry I've gotten off track a little.  I've tried here to get back 
to the ride and will finish up with probably one more posting.  Please be 
patient.

I left off trying to explain the road suitable for a good Lisa ride in 
Vermont and the kids that drive them in their mother's Honda's......

Now, like most people, these young kids want to get their Accord out to one 
of the two R&T nationally ranked driving roads.  Vermont's #2 ranked, 
Interstate 89, winds through the Green Mountains.  The curves tend to be 
gradual and sweeping.  With the exception of probably two, all of these can 
be driven at the legal 65 MPH.  The two exceptions have you down to 55.  This 
is essentially a highway and not a road.  If they want a thrill on this 
highway they have to start pushing 30-40 over the posted limit.  Of course at 
that speed they can start to feel the Accord floating and they let off right 
quick.  It's probably not a thrill road for a Tiger either.  I guess there 
are a few people capable of touring a Tiger at 90 MPH, but they aren't around 
here.  In fact in this area there are very few Tigers.  There were two places 
that I know of in Vermont that sold Tigers in the 60's.  I never paid much 
attention to the locations because the cars were beyond my financial reach.  
A school teacher in Vermont making $4800 per year buys a used Healy Sprite to 
impress the ladies and a rusted out Ford wagon for the winter.  I can 
remember only two Tigers in the area.  One guy had his hopped up a little and 
would blast through town with open or no mufflers.  Plenty of noise.  Then 
there was the other one and the one that most locals remember.  If you 
frequented the drag strip you always remember the Tiger that showed up.  Over 
the course of a few seasons it got modified and got faster.  The 260 became a 
289.  The 289 became a HO 289.  Every conceivable option was bolted on to 
make it faster and every conceivable type of angle iron was welded in to try 
to keep the thing together after the rear end ripped out or after the front 
frame work was cut out to stuff in larger engine pieces. Most novices 
watching the races knew that the car got harder and harder to beat over two 
years, but never really knew what was going on.  The exterior didn't change 
that much.  Looked just like a stock Tiger, or better still, like one of 
those 4 cylinder Alpines that was seen running around.  The final product saw 
the rear tubbed out and the space stuffed with about 12" rubber, the rear 
fenders flared and a Boss 302 under the hood topped off with special cam, 
crank, valves, springs, headers, probably 5 hi-rise intakes  and about 32 
carburetors.  The thing seemed to be  just about all engine.  The gearing had 
been perfected and it could hook up at the line and beat anything that showed 
up except a fuelie Vet.  At this time in the area there were almost no 
foreign cars.  One dealer eventually sold some MG's and Healys and one tried 
the Renault Daulphine.  This is the same dealer who eventually sold the 
Sunbeams and one of his sons had the Boss Tiger.  In this area in the 60's it 
was all American cars.  If you wanted pretty cheap speed and muscle you got a 
Chrysler Corp 383, 440 and for the extreme fanatic, a hemi.  For the car nut 
to see a "little foreign car" wipe out a 440 Dodge left a definite 
impression.  Eventually it was just commonly accepted that the Tiger was an 
untouchable car.  People never really had a chance to see a slow one around 
town and so you couldn't find one on the street to challenge.  There just 
weren't that many around.  If you did happened to see this hopped-up drag 
strip Boss on the street you were going to be damned foolish  to try that on 
for size.  People just couldn't go around bragging that they beat a Tiger and 
so, in this area, the Tiger became sort of a legend based on the one car.  
Imagine yourself sitting in the old wooden bleachers at the strip. A Chevelle 
409 SS is lined up against that "little foreign car."  It's a funny looking 
little car.  It's got these big wheels in the back and the car hasn't been 
washed or painted since new.  When the green light hits, the dirty little 
Tiger drops the hammer.  The wheels start to spin a little, there's a little 
smoke and then the big tires bite.  The front end starts to come up and then 
the car seems to twist from the torque.  As the car really starts to launch 
forward a piece flies off the car.  The gawking spectators  realize that the 
torque of the engine has twisted the car enough that the windshield has been 
thrown out and up over the car.   This is the thing that legends are made of. 
 Anyone who ever saw those races remember the Tiger and what it took to find 
something that could beat it.  Numerous times I've been approached by men in 
their 50's and 60's and been told that they remembered seeing Tigers at the 
strip.  They, like all the rest, just figured that all Tigers were that fast. 
 They tend to treat them with almost a reverence.  No doubt that when one was 
later seen these same men told their kids about the Tigers of the 60's.  
Around here they very seldom see one and so it's a treat when they do.   So 
now if a 20 or 30 year old sees the car you can see the wheels turning as 
they look at it and try to remember what their fathers told them.  "Oh, I 
remember.   Do they really have a V8?"   They kind of look at the car in awe, 
thinking back to  the stories they've been told.  They can see that 
windshield flying higher and higher into the air.  They can picture the dirty 
little Tiger beating all comers by 200 or 300 feet.   Most of the time they 
stand there and don't know what to say.  It's sort of like being in the 
presence of royalty .  I attended a national motorcycle event a few years ago 
and couldn't take my bike.  I took the Tiger.  With all the new, flashy, 
chromed up and customized Harleys to look at it was interesting to see the 
reaction to the Tiger.  Granted most of the crowd was 40 to 60 years old, but 
it was almost impossible for any of these people to walk by the Tiger without 
taking a minute to walk around it.  I overheard one guy yelling to his lady 
to, "Come here and look at this bike!"  Her answer yelled back to him was, 
"Hell with the bike,  there's a Tiger over here."  Now keep in mind that 
we're talking a Tiger that, cosmetically, leaves a lot to be desired.  
Original, faded red paint on a car that gets washed once or twice a year and 
was last buffed and waxed in 1989.  I'm sure that Lisa was informed of the 
Tiger legend by the guys in her driveway, information passed down from their 
fathers.  Probably why the car was referred to as "Hot."  

Anyway, I decided very quickly that trying to impress Lisa with a Tiger 
thrill ride on Interstate 89 was out of the question.  Again, to get a real 
sense of winding it out on that road you have to be up at 90MPH +.  I decided 
that the way my car handles, the way my nerves work and the way the local 
state boys frown on cars blasting by everything in sight, it might be a 
better idea to chose somewhere else.   Now don't get the impression that 
people don't  really "drive"  Interstate 89.  This is the main thoroughfare 
between Boston and Montreal and New York City and Montreal.  You will 
sometimes get blown off the road by a Ferrari or Vet pushing 100.  They will 
normally be Canadian drivers, who for some reason, don't seem to worry about 
American speeding tickets.  Probably kind of fool hearty because the ticket 
still has to be paid.  If you skip it, God help you the next time you get 
caught in the US and have your plates run through the computer.  The same 
goes for Americans caught on the Canadian side.   To give you some idea of 
what can happen on this road, I was once passed on my motorcycle, by a 
Canadian  doing about 80 mph with loud muffler  Monte Carlo.  The thing is I 
never saw him coming and never heard him until he was right on the side of 
me, about one foot off.  To be a total ass, he was passing me on the right 
side in the break down lane.  There was no reason for the move.  The left 
lane was empty.  The guy was just a complete idiot.  It didn't bother old  
"Macho Mark" though.  I pulled off, went directly home, changed my under 
pants and put the bike away for the day.  

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