What a surprise to find this in the May issue:
[url]http://www.caranddriver.com/article.asp?section_id=27&article_id=6584[/url]
[img]http://www.caranddriver.com/assets/image/424200310453.jpg[/img]

I am sending him a letter of appreciation for a well written .50 caliber rifle article.

Incase someone doesn't want to click the link above:

Patrick Bedard
Hands, please: Who needs 0-to-60 in 4.3 seconds?
May 2003

I had just finished pouring a dozen miles' worth of driver observations into the Audi S4's logbook. It was the first car swap of the morning, on Day Last of our “Compact Adrenaline-Delivery Systems” comparison test (see page 64). We were deep in rural Arizona. Not many people, not much traffic. God's own proving ground, you might say.

What speeds does He run, anyway? Common sense kept me from pushing into the three-digit range over the just-finished section, and the S4 was unchallenged at anything less. My mind was groping for a reference. Speed comes effortlessly in these cars. Exhilarating speed. Crazy speed. At what point does one become the other?



Car and Driver doesn't burn up its brain cells agonizing over questions of motoring morality. We like fast cars because they represent higher achievements on the technical ladder than slow cars (see “Knockout Sedans,” page 44). And they're more entertaining. That's as deep as we go on company time.

Life on planet Earth is not that simple, of course. At some level, cars are just another consumer item, and not a very big one—they comprised only 3.6 percent of the U.S. gross domestic product in 2002, according to the Bureau of Economic Analysis (includes cars and parts). We spend three times that much on food, and more yet on medical care.

But you don't hear talk-show callers deploring Twinkies and Krispy Kremes in the tones they spray all over SUVs. Cars grab the public mind out of all proportion to their importance. Folks care.

Should we care about the implications of daringly fast cars in the hands of anyone with credit enough to swing a no-money-down lease deal on a $50,000 four-door?

What should we think? When probing those trackless frontiers, I like to check my instincts against another staffer's (who asked not to be named). His mental orbit is reliably different from mine. Hoping that he had already done the heavy philosophical lifting on this topic, I stood by his car until the window lowered. To ignite conversation, I offered this: “If the folks who want to ban .50-caliber rifles knew about these road burners, they'd be next on the list.”

To my complete surprise, he launched into a passionate paragraph remarkable only for its fidelity to the liberal's book of talking points, starting with, “The only purpose of machine guns is to kill people.”

Well, that's an answer. I take it to mean, “I haven't thought about it yet.” But since the liberal half of the citizenry seems to hold a similar view, let's put it to the common-sense test.

Forty-five percent of U.S. households own one or more guns, “over 200 million” firearms in all, according to the National Rifle Association. If the only purpose of those guns is killing, Americans would be taking their vacations in Gaza to escape the bloodshed.

The notion that the purpose of any civilian gun is to kill people is offensive to me. Some guys like sinking baskets. Others enjoy playing the violin. I enjoy target shooting. It's a never-ending challenge—how can I improve my technique? Better self-control is the key. It's a small yet treasured part of the life I choose to lead.

Moreover, last time I checked FBI stats, this country had zero homicides attributed to .50-caliber arms. Degree of deadliness doesn't correlate with harm to society.

The obvious argument against fast cars mirrors the liberals' diatribe against guns—speed kills, and the only purpose of a fast car is speed.

No, this intellectually sloppy argument confuses capability with purpose. Fast cars are capable of accelerating past speed limits in less time than slow cars, but even the lamest smoke-spewing beater is capable of violating any limit in the country. And they often do. Moreover, where's the safety promise in being struck by another vehicle going the speed limit? Getting hit at any speed is life threatening.

Another fact: Enforcement is the same for all cars. Nobody can get by with too fast too long. “Fast,” in a car, is rather like one judge's famous standard for pornography—“I know it when I see it.” Some of the numbers in this issue are fast beyond the capability of any street-legal sedan I could imagine, right up until my Reebok kicked the throttles wipe open. Hoo-wee! Yet these extremists are easily controllable. So precise, so accurate, so willing to do exactly as they're told. That wasn't the nature of the '60s muscle cars from my early days of road testing. Back then, anything that could break 15 seconds in the quarter-mile was a fast car (the famous Pontiac GTOs could rarely make the cut). Anything under 14 seconds and over 100 mph was ohmigod!

A few standouts: A bright red Plymouth Road Runner, 426 Hemi automatic, in January 1969, did 0 to 60 in 5.1 seconds, the quarter in 13.54 seconds at 105.14 mph; a 435-hp Corvette 427 in September of the same year ran to 60 in 5.3 seconds and on to a 13.8-second quarter at 106.8 mph. These old marks roughly match those of this issue's $50,000 choices, and they get dusted by the $73,000-and-above class.

If not irresponsible speed, what is the purpose of such cars?

That's easy. They're escapes from the ordinary. Special equipment is always thrilling, even when put to mundane uses. I defy you to drive a 16d spike in about three whacks with a titanium hammer and not grin like the first time you heard rock and roll. Extreme equipment puts joy in everyday jobs. It talks to you. The fast cars on these pages all ride too hard and make impolite noises and respond to controls with fast-twitch reflexes. They're not for everybody. Are you man enough for such equipment? That's part of the fascination.

A few of my friends in the '60s drove Hemi Mopars. I held back. Too extreme, I thought, given my slim finances and semisensible ways. But in 1980, when gas shortages looked like a forever thing and a 425-hp car was arguably the stupidest orphan you could give a home to, I found a four-speed 1966 Belvedere II and wrote a check. Twenty-three years later it makes heroic noises for a few hundred miles each year and reminds me that life won't default to bland if I don't let it.

Fast cars have always been about pushing the limits. That's what makes them polarizing. It was always easy for muscle-car detractors to say, “Nobody needs such an extremist.” But I notice something. Although my fascination with that overpowered Plymouth is as vivid as ever, the mothers-against-fun-stuff who once found it so threatening now smile on it as they would on any other antique.

To those who are horrified by the fast cars in this issue, I promise you this: You'll get over it.

GREAT article.  But isn't Car and Driver owned by a frog company, or is it Road and Track?

Holy smokes that's AWESOME!!!