Barely Street Legal League [SURVEY ON PAGE 70]

[strop]

Well it can become Murdered or perhaps Manslaughtered if one forgets the safe word

[07CobaltGirl]

LOL

[strop]

If anyone is wondering, I get exposed to a lot of variety in my job, yeah <_<

[Kubboz]

OOC: Ok, that "apology" was so hilarious I'm not sure whether to delete it or not. Now, strop, could you accept my roleplay bit at least? I mean, I won't detain your character or anything?

[strop]

Far be it from my intention to snub you Kubby, but... if I put it in right now, it would cause a continuity issue ;_; Can I save it for later? (Because we haven't even gotten to the second half which takes place in Europe, and, as you will see pretty soon, we start getting the wrong kind of attention from all kinds of law enforcement...)

As Cen inferred earlier, from prior moderation experience elsewhere, unfortunately some people have either a) nothing to do in their lives b) a severe deficiency of meaningful social connections, and those people sometimes latch on to and cause low level harrassment until they get bored or run out of patience loading up proxies and making new fake email accounts. On the plus side, we don't really have to do all that much about it since it burns itself out eventually if you don't let it get to you too much. The only point at which it really starts getting out of hand is if they start doing something that requires the attention of a federal agency.

That being said, prepare for the next round to proceed!

[07CobaltGirl]

This might be the most fun I've had on a forum EVER!! haha

[TheTom]

Agreed! And i couldn't care less about the final results of the tournament, not only because there's no way i'm gonna be anywhere near the top but also because all this storywriting and all the crazy cars are awesome! Strop, you're an awesome host and i hope there will be another season

[8bs]

Agreed! And i couldn't care less about the final results of the tournament, not only because there's no way i'm gonna be anywhere near the top but also because all this storywriting and all the crazy cars are awesome! Strop, you're an awesome host and i hope there will be another season

Same here! I just want to read the next story/action regardless what happened... Go go Strop!

[EnryGT5]

Yep. this is the best forum experience i ever had, made even better by the X90's astonishing performance , and Strop's fantastic hosting, but the best thing is my return to writing RP/Fiction, as i always liked

[Pleb]

Wow, I leave this thread for one day and all this has happened, and even though this is the only forum I've been actively a part of, this is still by far the best time I've had.

Although I'm still confused as to what exactly is going on, but I'll just roll with it, whatever will be will be .

[strop]

I'm really glad you guys are enjoying yourself, because so am I This race technically doesn't take place for another 17 hours or so, but I'm presenting it in two parts so you can digest it easier (read: get stuck on the cliffhanger lololol), and also, well, quite keen to move on!

_________________________________________________________

Eleven o’clock and the night air hung heavy, laden with moisture uncharacteristic of the barren expanse of salt that stretched out far further than the eye could see. It clung to the skin, soaking the flesh, chilling to the bone.

All the way through the evening, Strop regretted not packing his long johns, normally reserved for such destinations as the UK in December (wait, wasn’t he going to the UK in like five days? Shit.) It was even worse, that he had neglected to realise that since his wonderful colleagues at Gryphon Gear had completely stripped his Peapod out and replaced all the panels with carbon fiber (without his permission), he, of course, had no air conditioner. So sure enough, it was literally icy in the car, to the point Strop could see frost forming on his fur coat, which, of course, he had just trimmed in preparation for the comparatively hellish Australian Summer. His puffy duck down trucker jacket just wasn’t cutting it.

Clutching his arms to his body, he gingerly stepped out of the car, alongside where the Mephisto, Sleipnir and the Gryphon Gear truck (all equipped with air conditioning), were parked at the end of the Bonneville Speedway road, where it gave way to the salt. The rest of the crew was there, all dressed in their winter gear, Tesla in her ski suit (that she never used), Hannah in her polar fleece, Noah in his overcoat, and… Kai wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Where was Sam? Swaddled in just about every item he could find in his suitcase, he nonetheless staunchly refused to leave the relative comfort of Sleipnir, eyes bugging out in disbelief at Kai’s lack of winterwear, or apparently, hypothermia.

“Come on, Sam,” Kai gloated, “It’s not that bad, it’s only minus eight out here!”

“Don’t you dare open my window you freak!” Sam gasped, voice slightly muffled by the Lexan.

“Kai, if you’re not going to wear your jacket, could I borrow it?” Strop asked, looking hopeful.

Kai promptly went to his car, fetched his jacket, and slipped it on with a cheeky grin. “Oh, I am cold, but it was fun seeing Sam flip out.”

Strop glared at Kai. “Give me that jacket.”

Kai shrank back, feigning horror. “Why!? It’s MY jacket.”

“I let you hog the entire bed when you were moping over-“

“Okay okay already!” Kai hastily shrugged off his jacket before Strop could finish his sentence and, more importantly, let Sam overhear. Strop didn’t even bother adjusting his own clothes, just crammed it on over, and breathed a sigh of relief. A little too short, but only a little because it was a bit too large for Kai.



“Better. Now you have fun with Sanka-mon over there,” Strop grinned, drawing a “Hey! It’s actually cold!” of recognition from inside Sleipnir, and stalked off to join Noah, Hannah and Tesla. Tesla prodded the salt with her foot, shaking her head.

“Still too wet and icy.”

“But reason enough to stop us from racing on it?”

Everybody looked at Strop with that are-you-serious look he recognised even in the dark.

“It’s not good to cancel an entire event because of this though,” he moaned, grinding his palm into his head. “So we won’t cancel it.”

“Hey numbnuts,” Hannah poked Strop in the hip (because she was too short to conveniently poke him in the head), “Is it so cold your brain froze too? You want the Barely Street Legal League to turn into the Formerly Street Legal League?”

“Yeah but…” Strop scratched his chin, a smile slowly spreading on his face. “We don’t have to run on the Salt Flats.”

“Don't you dare.” Noah snapped pre-emptively.


_____________________________________________________________________________________

A strange atmosphere accompanied the throng that gathered in dribs and drabs on the otherwise deserted roads leading to the Bonneville Salt Flats. Niall arrived by himself from god-knows-where, looking content in his own little headspace. Rayyan and Riley arrived together from the east, as did Matt, Enry, and Seba Machado from the West. 8bs, Kristina, Pleb, and Tom all turned up at the same time from the same place, but not together, and while Pleb seemed perfectly normal, Kristina and Tom clearly exuded some healthy glow about them. But 8bs, man he looked like shit. And the multinational multispecies trio of the Raggari Mutant had somehow managed to collect a lot of dust on their way up. Clearly it had been an interesting three days for many of them, but here they were, and ready to race. All except Normandy nutjob, Vos. He’d sent notice withdrawing from this round so he could fix his car for the remaining rounds, and probably for the better at that, given just what happened to the brakes in Japan.

Explaining to the gathered participants, arms all folded in front of them in various poses, that wet salty sand at sub-zero temperatures makes for a huge reservoir of mud with patches of ice on top did not seem to convince many. Explaining that the only racing they would do were two hundred mile an hour tank slappers or getting bogged and leaving lots of lovely evidence for the cops to examine come the morning was only marginally better. But the suggestion that the forty-three mile stretch of Lincoln Highway that lay just beyond the onramp from the Bonneville Speedway road was in fact, perfectly straight, deserted at this time of the night and much much longer than the measly seven miles of wet sand they could have condemned their cars to rust in for eternity was a far stronger argument.

“Only, of course, this does cross the line from Barely Street Legal to Rather Illegal,” Strop hastened to mention. “Not that some of you seem too bothered by this, or so I’m told,” he added as he imagined Hannah shooting him a meaningful glare from their truck some twenty miles up the road.

“So we’re going to do this quickly, and blast on out of here, and I expect everybody to be discreet until you reach Tulsa and we finish renegotiating the track hire.”

This was arguably the simplest stage. All they needed to do was floor it, in an all-out race. They weren’t even going to bother with a staggered start, it was come as you please and go as you please, though of course, please, no bumping. Any and every means to keep the engine cool or to eke out that bit of extra speed by drafting was permitted. The only reference point was the laser guided timers that Noah had been (reluctantly) tasked with planting exactly one mile apart, in the middle of the highway. Just like the way the Bonneville Land Speed Record runs were timed.

One by one they lined up on the road, ready to set off, engines all revving as they started the warmup. “Alright guys,” Strop shouted, “Keep it clean!” He tapped each car on the bonnet, and they set off, slowly at first, easing their joints and stretching their limbs in the frigid Autumn air. Strop took his place at the back of the pack, knowing full well his car had the lowest top speed, but he didn’t care. It was back in the wheel and back in the race and it sent a thrill through his body to anticipate the roaring and thunder and the road passing by in a blur, trading places bumper to bumper amidst the night lights, where one wrong move was death.

The megacar convoy snaked its way onto the on-ramp and onto the highway in single file, where they proceeded at precisely on the speed limit, each and every one of them, daring each other to pull the trigger first. It was a matter of calculation, of thinking of the condition of the tyres, of fuel, of engine temperatures and a million shifting operations was going through each of the minds of every racer, while trying to predict the move of the others.

Everything changed in a single moment. Maybe it was the Annihilator, maybe it was the Debrauna. Or maybe Tom was the one who snapped first, nobody could tell. A burble turned into full throated roaring and baying and the cars leapt forward, slithering around on the damp road as they jockeyed for position. But top speed was king, and as the road thundered by beneath them, the surrounding expanse of darkness seemingly in suspended animation, the order was established. As the odometer flicked by, the hundred meters ticking by almost every second, the Hulk had muscled its way to the front, almost barging the cars it passed off the road, before squatting and blasting away. The Ultra X was next, its lack of downforce and drag allowing it to soar higher than even the superlative company it kept. An eclectic pack of cars followed close behind, a mix of the hyper-powered all wheel drives and coupes, chased by the bumper to bumper pack of the Vindicator, the oversized Elegance, the hatchbacks Brimstone and Achernar, and parked right on the tailgate of the Achernar, Kristina’s E30. While Sam insisted on flooring it early, the track spec of Sleipnir left his top speed lacking, and he was passed first by the other front wheel drive cars, then the other aggressive track tuned cars, and finally, even the ancient Testis. This was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and he snuck in onto the tail of the next car, the Debrauna, and sped off. The two dozen pairs of headlights all progressively vanished into the distance as they left Strop in his Peapod, not even yet doing a measly three hundred, far far behind. Last place indeed.

This was when Strop noticed something very wrong. There was a pair of headlights in his rear mirrors. Flashing red, white and blue. And, unless he was hallucinating, they were growing larger.

[TheTom]

Deepite her height, Elena was overseen by strop. Apparently she was slim enough for that to happen. Tom had told her to eat a little bit more today at lunch as he was a little bit concerned about her health and well-being, but she refused. Anyway, she was sitting in the back row again (behaving like a normal person, and wearing a winter coat, blue jeans and fuzzy boots, unlike the first time they met) to add what little weight she had to the rear axle, slightly improving the overpowered RWD hatchback's traction. Having been driven around in the Brimstone a couple of times, though, she was quiter than the last few times, getting kind of used to the performance of the crazy little car, but a flatout race against twenty other cars of similar or even better performance was still a terrifying experience, especially considering the bad weather conditions. The Brimstone was not tuned for top speed, but even so it was capable of reaching 382km/h but because of the very limited grip in cold weather conditions like this, it was no match for the AWD and mid-engined cars off the line, though the high-end power once the car had stabilized helped with making up some lost positions. At the very front, a big and heavy Cadillac just disappeared into the dark of night. But what Tom was more concerned about was what happened behind him, namely the Peapod getting smaller and smaller in his rear view mirror and some flashing lights behind it...

[rileybanks]

Uh oh, it's the fezz...
But I was hoping the loss of grip on the salts would help me get up the field a little?

[nialloftara]

[Ooc]
Crikey it's the rozzers. Keep it pinned boys and girls!

[07CobaltGirl]

Anastasia was but a memory now. It was unlikely she would ever have contact with her again, but it was certainly an exhilarating 2 days and nights! The fair complexion and freckles complimented the bright auburn hair to form a lasting impression. She had stopped in briefly at the casino to say her goodbyes before getting into the E30 and driving over to the meeting place at 10:30pm.

Kristina stood in the group with the others as she listened to Strop lay out the plans for the night. It was quite cold here. The high desert mountains in the winter are not what most people think about when they hear "desert". She thought to herself, "it's not like I will get traction in any conditions, so lets just do this!" Then the bomb dropped. They were going to hold the race on Interstate 80? Shit just got real up in here! They were about to make the jump from "Barely" Legal Street League to "Completely Illegal" Street League. She supposed, with this gathering of miscreants, it had only been a matter of time. Of course, she was right there with them all, as much of a miscreant as any.

As they all got back into their cars and began entering the onramp for I-80, an ominous feeling overtook her, shaking her very being to it's core. How will cops be dealt with on this dark stretch of highway. It's not like there were exits and towns to get lost in. She smirked, as she said out loud, "As if the cops have anything able to keep up with this crew!" The slowest car among the group was capable of exceeding 190 mph, and most of them were capable of 240+. This was going to be her saving grace. She hadn't tuned for insane top speeds, but she was definitely in the 240+ crowd. She was almost guaranteed points in this event!

Suddenly, it all began. The cars went from grumbling low RPM's to screaming banshees as they punched the accelerator to vie for spots. This was not where she would excel. She would be another 20 seconds or so before she would arrive in 4th gear where traction was more attainable at WOT. Nearly everyone passed by her as the speedometer slowly began to creep up. 120 mph, 135 mph, 150 mph, 160 mph...top end of 3rd was nearly full throttle. Boom. The shift had been made into 4th at 180 mph and the car was home free from power-induced wheel-spin. It was time to catch up with the others.

In her rear view mirror she saw something odd. A second set of headlights behind her. The only BSLL competitor who hadn't passed her was Strop. Who was in the other car? Then she noticed the red and blue flashing lights. Well, that didn't take long at all! At least it was unlikely for the law to have any supercars on hand to give a real chase...