OK. I was beaten by a grannymobile.
Looking at the results, Tom was both happy and unhappy. Happy because he had built a competitive RWD hatchback (8th place out of 21 if you don’t count the GG cars is not too shabby), but also unhappy because… what if he had listened to his engineers’ advice of downsizing the engine to make it AWD compatible? I guess we’ll never know. [size=50]Or will we?[/size]
I am pleased with the victory!
I entered the wagon as I didn’t expect to do well at all at first, however I became hopeful of some good results after I saw the dismal amount of power on my competitor’s cars 
. But I didn’t imagine at any moment I could beat all of GGs cars on their home turf!
[size=50]I’d just like to point out that the granny riding in the passenger seat had to have a heart transplant and that the dead body on the back was shouting during the race, maybe he was awake by the 2000 hp of my wagon [/size]
I am gonna have like… no car left, by the time this series is done.
strop, your series is so popular top gear just entered! topgear.com/uk/car-news/tuned-1900bhp-ford-gt-video-2014-11-10
Sadly I expected more from my Vindicatior, I shall have summon my inner stig for the next track, stop short shifting and be a bit more brave in the corners, as long as I can keep from eating a tire wall…
Tire wall? There’s no tire wall on mount Haruna…
alright, miss a apex and go hurtling off the mountain.
My favourite, though heinously inaccurate, interpretation of mt haruna was in Grid, because some sections there was only a wooden fence which you could shave off if your line was a bit wide, or just go straight off and tumbling down the ravine…
EDIT: I’ve fixed a couple of typos (namely, getting the spelling of one of the car names wrong, a lot), fixed up the graphs and also fleshed out the conclusion of the story of race 1. Next will be Haruna!
I updated my post at page 14 revealing a little help from Seishido for the next race 
**[size=200]S[/size]**trop never drank coffee, and for good reason (what reasons they were exactly he didn’t really want to recall, hence their goodness). But right now, in the absence of sleep, that was starting to sound closer and closer to a good idea. On just the first leg of this crazy trip he had the good fortune to cook up, he had just endured eight hours of driving in the dark (and nearly running out of petrol three times on the unlit remote highways of Australia), then a fitful sleep, and one very short, very hard (and very illegal) race, plus four nerve wracking hours of trying to shake the Highway Patrol on the road to Sydney, all in the confines of the cramped seat of the cramped cabin of his stripped out Civic, the formerly beloved Peapod. At the time, it was all a huge rush and exhilarating and all that, but now that the car had been stored in freight, his tickets were secured and he somehow managed to shuffle through customs, there was a hollowness carved by exhaustion. And, to put it crudely, his butt hurt. He could only imagine how the other two, three dozen people involved in the league must be feeling. He could see a few of them, milling about the lounge, naturally, given there were only so many flights heading to Tokyo direct in a single day, and when their eyes met, they would give each other a single nod, a secret acknowledgement of their common bond.
Seated in the comparatively luxurious boarding lounge of the International terminal of Kingsford Smith Airport, the Gryphon Gear crew waited, occasionally glancing at the clock. Hannah and Tesla sat on one end of the row, talking about what sounded like whether Tesla should airbrush a starry night on the ceiling of her bedroom in addition to the mural in her living room, only Hannah thought it was kind of cliché and maybe she should go for an underwater effect instead. Strop, meahwhile, had strategically placed himself between Sam and Kai, because Sam looked to be gloating, and Kai looked to be a little bit unamused. But all that had achieved was Strop having a front row seat to Sam’s overbearing smugness as he almost bounced on his seat with a barely contained satisfaction.
“And THAT’S how you pull an overtaking move, did you see it?”
Kai rolled his eyes. “How could I not, you pretty much shoved me off the track.”
“As it should be!” Sam slapped his thigh triumphantly. “That’s what it’s like in V8 Supercars. Real touring racing, in case you forgot!”
“It’s called unsportsmanlike conduct and nearly damaging my car, which, unlike the car you’re throwing around, happens to be my own.” Kai remarked dryly. Sam chuckled.
“You’re just grumpy because I beat you.”
Strop looked at the clock again for the umpteenth time. Nine in the morning, and a whole another hour until boarding. On the plus side, that would hopefully be enough time for Noah, who had mysteriously vanished, to-
“HEY, ASSHOLES!”
Everybody (including far more than just the GG crew), bolted upright and turned to stare at the source of the exclamation. There stood a tall, lanky, and rather pissed off wolf dressed in skinny trousers with the cuffs rolled up and a belt that seemed to be hanging more out of the loops than in, a tank top loose to the point of billowing, all covered by a cardigan, and, strangely, a scarf and beret. Plus a whole lot more that appeared to be stuffed into a canvas carry-on bag. Definitely Noah.
“Nice of you to join us Noah,” Hannah smirked. “Did you get lost in an op shop?” Tesla added. Strop was about to add that while this was an international trip, there was no need to dress hipster for ALL the countries at once, when Noah’s lips curled and he let out a throaty growl, so he thought the better of it.
“Do you have ANY idea just how much trouble it is to shake the cops when you’re driving a car that LOOKS like a cop car except IT’S NOT?” His arms started flapping wildly as he recounted his tale of woe: “I had to pretend that I was too busy taking off in pursuit, only all the cars here are like ten times as fast as a shitty hire car and I had to be careful not to bin it, else that would have caused all kinds of problems with returning it wouldn’t it now? And then before dawn, I had to find a place where I could wash the stickers off without anybody noticing! And then the hire car place only opens at eight in the morning and by the time I fill out the paperwork and try to explain why there’s oil splatter all over the engine bay, it’s fucking peak hour and I have to cross the Sydney CBD because I don’t have an eTag, and who thought of that plan anyway? And do you know how hard it was to play a police officer and how much trouble I could have gotten into? And hey, stop that!”
He paused to glare at Tesla, who was doubled over laughing. Between gasps, she managed to get out, “But you look so good in uniform!”
Noah’s litany lost momentum as he looked momentarily confused. “Flattery isn’t going to help, you know, and hey, what are you doing with my camera!” He pointed at the camera Tesla had produced, and she waggled it salaciously.
“Don’t you want to see what you looked like? I got your performance on video.”
Noah planted his hands on his hips. “Give that back.”
Tesla waggled the camera again. “YouTuuuuuuuuuube.”
“NO.” Noah lunged for the camera, but Tesla rolled out of the way, over Hannah, and started running around the aisle of seats. “YouTuuuuuuuuube!”
Increasingly conscious of the stares they were now attracting, Noah quickly gave up, instead directing his ire at the other guys, who were by now also doubled over laughing. “Stop that!”
Kai stopped laughing long enough to look Noah directly in the eye. “So sorry, not sorry,” he said. Then he resumed laughing.
“I hate you all!” Noah stormed off to another aisle, plonked himself in the seat and sulked.
Strop sighed, feeling the tension seep from his shoulders after that bout of laughter. Noah had an entire ten hour flight to get over it. After all, he had to, because whether he liked it or not, he was going to be reprising his role as fake cop quite a few times in the next two weeks.*
Yes, it was going to be a good trip.
Staggering out the front entrance of Tokyo Narita International and into the bracing Autumn air, the travellers of the Barely Street Legal League meandered their way to the freight pickup, where their cars were waiting. In the distance, the swathes of forever neon lights that were the night life of Tokyo beckoned.
Strop realised his strategic error the moment he arrived at the dock. For one, he could tell which car was his, because he couldn’t see it, being covered by a swarm of neon vests of Japanese airport workers. Figures, since he was driving… a Japanese car. An iconic 9th generation of Japanese car from an iconic Japanese company, which had been stripped out and a super wide bodykit screwed on in homage to Liberty Walk, and the Formula One style wing clipped on the front and… yeah no wonder it was getting so much attention.
“Excuse me, coming through!” he did his best to shove through the crowd, who, thankfully, once they realised he was there, parted to let him through, only to swallow him up and pepper him with questions in rapid fire Japanese, none of which he understood. And he was really tired and flying was not his thing, and all he wanted to do was get the next bit of driving done and he could sleep for the next half a day or so. Just two hundred kilometres to Gunma prefecture. He racked his brains for a solution, and in the moment of his need, providence provided. For just crossing his view interrupted by many waving hands, was Enry’s Archernar. Enry, of Seishido motors.
“OHHHHHHH!” he shouted dramatically, pointing at the Archernar. “SEISHIDO!” And with that, the crowd picked up and latched onto the Archernar, and with it, poor Enry.
“Nice moves,” Hannah remarked, driving past in her much less remarkable (but still equally out of place) truck.
“Thanks,” Strop said, strapping himself into Peapod and gunning the engine, eager to get away and suddenly desiring nothing more than to check into a hot springs resort and soak in an onsen for several hours. “I’ll see you in Gunma.”
[size=85]* because nobody else seems to know that Seishido have pitched in to run interference just yet, but they’ll surely find out in good time.[/size]
It’s at this point I realized I should have made a far better car… I was trying to win by points. Instead, all I’ve managed to do is sheer the oil pan off.
Hey! Leave me alone! the cloaked Enry shouted in choppy but comprehensible Japanese, trying to get away from Strop’s unfair trick. He was cloaked, to not be recognized as Seishido’s dang CEO and so, be assaulted not only by local gearheads, but also by the media, he had a large black hoodie,80’s aviator glasses, and a scarf covering his face, but he could not hide the brutal X90, so they thought it was some crazy Wangan-eater…
Random guy: Wow! are you from the Midnight Club?
Enry: Nope, this is a secret project, get off me!
Random guy #2: How much power are you running?
Enry: Around 6 Type-R’s.
Random guy #3: Top speed?
Enry: Not your business, dude
Random guy #4: Can i take some pics?
Enry: Oh, HELL NO!
Random guy #2: What?!
So Enry slammed the horn and cheesed it, leaving a huge raging four-wheel burnout where the car was a few seconds before. Enry can’t wait to go in action again, everyone knows
The japanese car addicts weren’t satisfied yet. Immediately, standing on the other side, the Brimstone caught their eyes, being a little hatchback, wearing its fancy yellow bodypaint, with its LED taillights glowing brightly and clearly visible even in the darkest night. Realizing what was about to happen seeing the crowd move towards his car, Tom jumped into the hyper-powered hatchback and floored it, leaving nothing but thick white clouds of tire smoke in the air and deep black tire tracks on the ground. While he could see very well where he was going, the crowd couldn’t. After the smoke had finally disappeared, so had the car, leaving only a furious soundtrack of a V8 engine revving to 9000RPM.
REALLY?! They STILL want more V8 madness? The engine shall be fired up and all hell will break loose.
[size=50]And it’s a good job we brought spare tyres. A really good job. Cause we’re probably going to need a new set of rears every 50 km or so. 
[/size]
They always want more V8 music! *sidesteps the clutch and lets 9.7 liters of v8 roar, the big motor bounces off the rev limiter emitting clouds of rich unburnt exhaust through the twin catless pipes. And in a cloud of various smokes the vindicatior rears back in a chassis twisting launch cocking a front wheel for the crowd *
To Mister Greasepaws the monkey, Japan air smelled interesting as his cage was pulled out of the cargo hold of the airplane. The humid air carried the smell of a city packed full of automobiles. But as a native of Gibraltar and a fan of high places, he longed to see the mountains. Some of the competitors seemed to be eagerly waiting to try some drifting down the twisty mountain roads. Mister Greasepaws didn’t like drifting. He was too small to drive a car himself, and he did not feel safe as a passenger when traction was deliberately lost. Luckily the hired Mystery Driver (who was not the Stig, as this guy spoke to people from under his helmet) was a fan of more traditional driving techniques and the four wheel drive car wasn’t exactly the best drifting machine anyways. They would probably not do well here, though. The Mystery Driver was no rookie, but his comfort zone was on the relatively flat European race tracks. But here came engineer Rubik and the Mystery Driver now to take him to the car!
The interior of the car was uncomfortable and noisy, but at least Mister Greasepaws had his own little bucket seat behind the driver and Rubik. A small stereo was the only entertainment on their way to the race course. It didn’t add too much weight to the car, but the two tiny speakers were useless when the car was moving. Nevertheless, Mister Greasepaws leaned in to hear at least a bit of the mp3 being played on it. He looked around. A colourful convoy of race cars, the drivers of which now owned the roads. In the rear view mirror he saw a long red car with air vents popping out everywhere. Its bonnet was missing. Whose dumb idea was to leave it off? That can’t be good for aerodynamics. Still, that… thing wasn’t even the most outrageous car out here. A few cars over he could see a glimpse of poison green. From that direction came a deafening roar of a gigantic engine as it downshifted for a long uphill. They were getting close to where today’s race would begin.
Kristina skittered past the frenzy around the dock workers clamoring over the Japanese cars, hopped into her Oxford Green, Americanized-German beast, started the motor and loped out of the yard as quietly as the LS7 could muster. As she approached the gate, she gunned it and left a plume of smoke behind her, directly followed by the sneeze of the turbos as she made the turn onto the street. She quickly found a bar to hide in where she ordered nigiri and sake to decompress from last night’s events. The car was stressful in Australia, but the mountain road in Gunma was going to be even worse. At least Mt Panorama had straights!
With food on her belly, she could consider her strategy for the downhill roller coaster ride. The only viable choice she had for Mt Haruna was to skillfully feather the throttle for a full-on drift. Not her forte at all. Sure she had drifted the car back home in Atlanta, but Swanson Proving Grounds was not a downhill course. She would have to use brakes here, or risk flying off the side of a mountain. Precision was key here, more than almost anywhere else. She killed the sake and left a tip as she rose up in the corner. She was quite out of place here among the Japanese men handling the girls who brought plates and bottles out to them. Her long, dirty blonde hair was messy, rough leather pants and motorcycle jacket which had seen years of wear, and steel toed leather combat boots from her days in the Marines.
She left the bar and walked along the sidewalk. She was still close to the ocean, the salty air was ever-present in Edogawa. She needed to get moving. It was 160km to the race, and only 3 hours left. She decided to take the Kan-Etsu Expressway despite it’s tolls. At least the tunnel was fun to drive in. She kept it under control though town, and then it was an easy ride into the hills toward the meeting point.
**[size=200]M[/size]**ount Haruna, legendary in stature and popularised by the breakout series Initial D, barely disguised as Mount Akina, yet described in loving detail. The site of many a race, both legal and underground, complete with narrow, twisting roads and scraped guardrails on every corner, with a sheer stone wall on one side and a precipitous fall into the dense tree line on the other. This was the epitome of touge and mountain drift.
The moon was high in the sky, just over half a rabbit pounding rice cakes gazing down from half a million miles away. The silvery light reflected in the shimmering waters of Lake Haruna just yonder, as the drivers jumped in their cars, pulling out of the Harunakomachi parking lot.
The Gryphon Gear truck slowed as it approached the selected mountain pass, none other than the downhill pass mastered by fictional prodigy Fujiwara in his famous Trueno 86 and its 4AG. Much is said about the true wisdom of touge, that balance, and not power, is everything. Yet there were no 4AGs here, only giant V8 blocks, a lone turbo straight six, and of course, Peapod’s turbo inline four, infused with unicorn magic to unleash over nine hundred horsepower. So to them, power was everything, and quite possibly for most of them, their undoing. But that was most of the fun (and pants wetting, bowel evacuating terror) of it.
“Wait a minute,” Hannah held out a hand, and Tesla stopped the truck in the middle of the long straight of the Jomo-Sanzen Panorama Highway. “What is that?” All over the runoff near the end of the straight, were bright lights and trucks and barriers.
“They don’t look like police to me!” Tesla squinted over the steering wheel. “At least I don’t see any blue lights.”
Just then, a small hatchback tore away from the group and surged up the road towards them. As it came closer it became clear it was the Achernar, and once the door opened, it was confirmed as Enry, still wearing his pseudo-gangster disguise, stepped out and knocked on the door of the truck.
“What’s all this?” Hannah asked.
“Good news!” Enry exclaimed, muffled by the scarf wrapped around his face. “Since we’re so close to the Seishido factory, we were able to close the road for the night and organise the event properly!”
Both Hannah and Tesla looked at each other. Hannah frowned at Enry. “How did you manage to close the road at such short notice?”
Enry shrugged. “We’re local, and nobody uses this road at this time anyway. At least, not until the tofu vendor has to make his delivery at four thirty. And we may have told the cops that we were testing… new… prototypes…” at this he shuffled his feet and looked away.
“Oh!” Tesla stifled a giggle. “We couldn’t possibly refuse your generosity. Thank you. We’ll let everybody know.” With that, Enry hopped back into his car and sped off towards the starting line. Hannah picked up the walkie talkie and thumbed the switch. “Hey, Noah, looks like you won’t need to play fake cop today…”
Two o’clock in the morning. With the last-minute formalisation of the event, things were suddenly more organised, but with that, news had clearly spread of the event, and in among the trees and bushes and at various vantage points, curious onlookers and enthusiasts had started to gather, cameras in hand, and without a proper police presence which they couldn’t request anyway lest Enry’s white lie be exposed, they couldn’t move them on. And Noah flatly refused to act as security and move them on, not least because he didn’t know how to say “go away” in Japanese.
Nonetheless, as it was guaranteed that the road would be clear, the team had discussed it with the local factory team and agreed on a much more exciting format. Strop checked the results of the first round, and drew up a table before gathering all the drivers around and announcing the schedule of proceedings.
“Welcome everybody! This is the second round of the Barely Street Legal league. Thanks to Seishido Motors, we have this road to ourselves for the next two and a half hours. So we’re going to use a touge battle format. Head to head, driver against driver against mountain road and fear.”
He then unveiled the large board with lots of blank squares on it. “We used your results from the first round, and divided everybody into brackets of four for the top half, and larger brackets for the bottom because we have an odd number. From that, you’ll draw lots and that will decide your opponent, so step forth and take a number from the box!”
One by one, each driver stepped forward and displayed their number, and bit by bit, the board filled up. Finally completed, it read as follows:
Baltazar Thanatos Estate –vs- Peapod GG Tune
Sleipnir –vs- Mephisto
Gemina XIII GTX –vs- AR.MA. SD-01R
Banks Debrauna Gumball Edition –vs- EGT Achernar X90
AED Griffin –vs- Necronia Emperion
AMW Brimstone –vs- The Hulk
Dalora Infernalis –vs- Raggari Mutant
YCB Yacare ULTRA X –vs- Leeroy Lunatic –vs- Decker Annihilator
HFF –vs- RB-02 –vs- Ruby
E30 LS7 M –vs- Cottam Elegance DA
Testis –vs- Centauri Vindicator –vs- Normandy Kodiak
“We will be progressing through the battles one by one. We only have time for one pass down the mountain each, and while this is a battle, your final time is what counts. May the battle sharpen your wits and break the limits of your car! Good luck and godspeed!”
With that, Strop hopped into his own car, mentally checking through everything, for as the lots fell, he was up against the crazy grannymobile first. But as the cars lined up in order on the straightaway of the pass, Strop realised something was clearly amiss. He couldn’t see among any of the cars, the distinctive handlebar moustache foglights of Sleipnir. Immediately he snatched up the GG walkie-talkie.
“Hannah, where’s Sam?”
“He’s not here?” the voice crackled back. “Shit. I have no idea. He better not be in trouble, he’s got Sleipnir.”
“Argh, I don’t want to think about it,” Strop grit his teeth. “If he’s not here within two minutes though, he’s totally missing this race.”
“Oh, what a pity!” Kai interjected.
“Shut up Kai!” Hannah, Noah and Strop shouted in unison.
Right at that moment, a new set of lights flashed into Strop’s rear view. His heart leapt as he saw the unique quad peek-a-boo lights and the handlebar headlights. It was Sleipnir.
“Sorry I’m late guys, I was… busy!” Sam’s voice crackled over the CB radio as Sleipnir screeched to a halt just adrift off the pack.
“Trying to pick up in Tokyo, I bet,” Kai snarked.
“Whatever, just get your ass on the grid, you’re racing Kai.” Hannah instructed him curtly.
“Nothing would give me more pleasure!” Sam exclaimed with glee. “Are you ready to lose, Crash?”
“Just remember whose car you’re driving,” Kai replied wearily.
Strop forcibly tore his mind away from the banter and towards the road ahead, hearing the engine rev as Noah, reprising his second role as the starting line chick, stood with his arms raised. That grannymobile was the fastest wagon he had ever seen in his life. It was a matter of whether he could hang on for the whole wide ride without getting thrown off.
Noah flung his hands down, and they were off!
It was with much disdain that Vos drew his horrific number. And upon entering his name on the board, he whipped out his phone and called the shop. The level of swears and unique insults that where audible even over the roar of so many engines was on a level that noone had quite heard before. Funding cuts, jail time and even slave labor where threats he fired into his phone. There was a brief pause in his diatribe that was undoubtedly him giving his team time to cobble together an excuse, after which he yelled very clearly “You know that wife of yours? Yes, the pretty one… If I lose this, I’m turning her into Ethanol.” He threw the phone on the ground where it shattered in a spectacular show of immaturity.
After checking the board … my mind was absolutely absent from any kind of thoughts, except to choose between the die soon and die sooner. I had a pretty tough decision to make here. After beating my nigorizake, it was time to take some more drastic measures … I went for the bottle of Gin …