Since it has a sub 4 second 0-60 and a good passing time (I’m typing this from my phone, I don’t remember exactly what it is), I’m happy with it. Plus, my range isn’t as bad as I thought.
Part 0
Sumgit, being the prat that he is, had completely forgotten to consider the need for a travelling companion. The dumb onion had driven his technically “stolen” car from whatever country Simpel-Karr are based in, and arrived at a hotel close to the well-publicised “secret” staging area for this semi-transcontinental half-baked mass-suicide attempt. He spent the day before the start hacking into the traffic cameras (he’s a bit cluey like that) trying to get a bead on what he’d be facing. As his labours began to pay off, he figured it’d be advantageous to maybe hire a local as an aide.
His inability to “habla español”, as they say, kind of made it difficult.
—Insert time-lapse bit here.—
– End insert—
Maybe not the smartest move ever made deciding to park as far from what would pass as the start line as the organisers would let him, but…hey.
Part 1
When the other cars began to fire up, Sumgit grabbed his sweat band and pulled it on…then made “VROOM, VROOM!” noises. (I don’t know what language he speaks, so I’m just going to do it in English).
There was sudden confusion as the cars at the front left the line, he could see this because he’d managed to park sideways at the end of the line. One by one they left.
“My turn!” Spooling up the puffer, he dropped the clutch, spitting gravel as the tail flicked around, it took him a while to reach the Five-Oh, who was just standing there at the door of his car… oh, no, he was on the radio.
“HORY SHEET! Reinforcements!”
Sumgit had the radio on, and it just so happens they were playing “Land of 1000 dances” by Wilson Pickett (about 20 seconds in) as he was passing a little black car piloted by someone who looked like a washed up F1 driver.
Dodging a tiny white hatch by using the footpath, which seemed to be the only surface that didn’t have randomly angled local traffic full of cursing drivers, Sumgit saw a horrid green thing disappear down a side street… then 3 more cars.
“When in Rome!.. or Casabermeja!!!”
A stab of the brakes, back to 2nd, and a violent jerk of the wheel, the Breezer flew into the alley. Into third and the car sneezed, the sound echoing between the walls, he had to laugh. This was going quite well… 8 whole minutes and 24Km. Maybe he shouldn’t be counting his chickens just yet.
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For those of you wondering what the hell this police Moia thing is…
1995 Cavallera Moia Sentinel, seen here, being used by the Spanish Civil Guard. It is a 4 door, 5 seat, AWD, 200hp 2L 4 cylinder turbo sedan that roams the roads of Spain chasing after (and losing to) your GAR cars.
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What’s the body material, out of curiosity? I’d like to know in case one of them bumps my fiberglass car.
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Chapter 3: (Timeskip 1, Málaga - Alicante).
(The Google Maps route can be found here).
(Music suggestion by @squidhead!)
With the police finally out of sight after the mountain pass, the racers started flooring it once they rejoined the A-341. During the first kilometres, the drivers could enjoy and test themselves in a few downhill turns, twisty, but not as twisty as the mountain pass. The road was narrow, and the pavement not as good as one would want it to be, but fortunately for the drivers the traffic was almost not present. With the Evo Rc in first place, and the Chaucer Brooklands slowly catching up, a battle started between the two as soon as they entered the A-92. As they entered Loja, the “Granada” sign was visible. The first province had already been left behind, and that was a good signal: their pace was consistent and fast.
However, as the highway section went on, the Brooklands burned through what was left of its tank of fuel quickly, having to stop to refuel. During the refuel, the Guivre passed him, the driver of the lime green wagon cursing as he finished refueling.
As the highway entered the mountains of Sierra de Huétor, the turns and more technical sections saw a battle for the 4th position between the Fatalita and the 333GT3. Thanks to a better fuel economy, the 333GT3 ultimately overtook the Fatalita.
A little further back, the Hummingbird and the Conquista fought for the position as well. The attempts of the yellow car were blocked by the muscle car, which could keep a faster average speed throught the highway. The kilometres went by quickly, and soon the lead racer made a choice: she opted for the b-road to reduce her cop visibility, just in case they were still on the lookout.
The road would soon become flatter and straighter. The highway became a test of top speed, and the 1000hp F219+35 started catching up, running out of fuel just before ovetaking the NRZ-986. The Dolphine and the Comet GT-R grasped this opportunity and started winning places, placing themselves just behind the Conquista. The battle between the Bushranger and the Chevallier, started in the mountain pass, would come to an end for now; the Chevallier drafted behind the Bogliq, finally overtaking it.
Another muscle car took place in the straight, between the Barracuda GT and the Montauk. A very close drafting battle, ultimately won by the Barracuda, whose driver showed the Montauk drivers the middle finger as he passed them.
However, the straights wouldn’t last for long. Soon, the road became twistier and twistier; as the cars entered the Mediterranean Highway, the turns became twistier and twistier. The Fahrzeug C1 was overtaken by the Grand 490, becoming the last car of the race. The Potatismos kept its place, with its driver taking the turns with expertise, tracing neat lines around them. As the driver of the Guardsman found himself forced to avoid traffic, and not following a good line, he was overtaken by the Communitasia of Karl and Lenin.
The cars finally arrived at what seemed to be the industrial areas of Alicante. They know they’ll have to enter the city, and they won’t be able to spend too much time crossing it; the police might be aware of the race and therefore, they could lock the city down as soon as they were reported.
The racers took the first entrance to the city, the onramp allowing them to enter the first streets of the industrial area. Some of the racers started drifting the 90º corners towards the city centre; others started gripping them.
However…it wouldn’t be long before those with a police scanner started picking up some worrying speech.
-A good patch of cars has been seen racing down the industrial area! Are they the street racers we’re looking for!?
-How many?
-More than 30!
-Lock the city down, we can’t let them escape!
To be continued.
Times spreadsheet:
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Ok, this is getting interesting. The economy strategy does not seem to pay out much.
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After a quick pit stop, Cindy and the Thunderbolt were back to blasting down the highway. It was here she truly appreciated the power density of the comparitively tiny V8. But just as always, it was in the corners where Cindy’s driving really showed itself.
But as they approached another city, she got gradually more uneasy. They hadn’t seen any major police presence since the mountain pass, and an industrial area seems like the perfect place for an ambush. “They could just be scouting us, waiting for us to fall right into a trap. I could blast down the main roads and get through in no time, but that’s where they’d expect to find us the most. And taking back roads will cost me more time and gas, both things I need to get away from them. I need to choose soon,” she said as she first entered the city limits.
And sure enough, the scanner confirms her suspicions. She downs a cup of coffee to give her a boost for the inevitable shitshow ahead. “Well, if they want a battle of wits, I say we give them one.”
She charges towards a side road, slowing down just enough to allow her to quickly divert her course if need be. She figured they’d be focused more on the group, and by changing course, she’d draw less attention from the cops. And if not, it’s way easier for one car to hide or flee.
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Damn it, you, I wanted to use that song at some point! 
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Kyle and Francesca accelerated onto the A-341 speeding down the down hill road. As the highway opened up Francesca noticed the Dingo in the rear view mirror. “Kyle that Dingo’s going to be right up our arse!” “It’s dropped back a long way from the beginning, don’t worry our economy is good enough, we’re not burning through as much fuel as I thought we would.” As the car climbed in speed and the symphony of V8 snarl and turbo whistle became increasingly louder.
Francesca kept her foot hard down, untill she reached the Alicante industrial area heading towards the city centre. Kyle frantically reading signs to work out directions and Francesca having to half slide the cars round the corners due to the rear of the car bouncing on its massive tires. Coming out of one particularly tight corner Francesca put her foot hard down leaving huge black lines down the road and filling the street with tire smoke. She laughed and the amazed faces of a couple of on lookers.
“Stop” “STOP”, Kyle heard the sound of a news report through the window of a cafe, a TV was playing a news feed about a group of street racers that were within the city. “They’re onto us again STEP ON IT”. Francesca accelerated the pace deciding to avoid other racers thus avoiding the eye of the Spanish police. “Francesca they are going to try to keep us in the city, keep it quiet”.
They crawled around the back roads waiting for the first racer to flee the city. The first sign of police movement.
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Marcus relaxed as the XR-3 flew down the highway, engine growling as he kept his aggressive pace… At least, as aggressive as the XR-3 could manage.
However, a glance at the fuel gauge showed that he still had plenty in the tank, and the car wasn’t terribly slow, for the most part. The thundering inline three carried the fiberglass car down the road at a brisk pace, still sipping away at the fuel in the tank.
As they headed toward the industrial zone, Marcus heard about the plan to lock the city down over his police scanner. He put a knee against the wheel, grabbed the pistol from the glovebox, and made sure it was ready for action. Comfortable in the knowledge that he could at least blow out the tires on any car in his way, Marcus then prepared for the next bit of racing, the flight through the city.
He turned on the radio, then poked a cassette into the player, blaring Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust” just loud enough to hear over the big engine.
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Cath and Julia’s Slightly Illegal Grand Tour of Europe - Part 2!
Think Edina and Patsy from Ab Fab, but with a few less cigarettes and lot more driving.
The splash and dash refuel had cost them, and hadn’t been helped by Julia’s insistence on wearing heeled shoes. Then again, Cath’s need to find “a proper continental breakfast” in the petrol station shop hadn’t helped either.
Back on the road, and they’re were up to speed once more. The Orion Visios occasionally came in to view, but was always well ahead as they headed north up the edge of the Iberian peninsula.The sun was creeping its way over the hills to the east, with the occasional intermission of a view of the gorgeous Mediterranean sea.
–
“…so Marco really is taking pills for that?” asked Julia.
“Oh yeah. It’s been an issue for much longer than he’ll ever make out” Cath replied with a smirk.
“Well” said Julia, also with a smirk on her face. “And I thought it was just because he was getting old”.
“No, he really does just struggle to get it…Shit” - Cath’s expression changed - “Rozzers”.
She noticed just in time to drop their speed. A police car was parked on the roadside by a cafe, thankfully unoccupied.
Cath let out a sigh of relief. Julia burst out laughing.
“It’s nothing, relax!” said Cath, sarcastically, promptly revving the straight six engine and climbing through the gears once more.
–
Alicante was soon upon them, though the early morning rush hour traffic had preceded them.
“Bloody spaniards!” Cath lashed out, shouting at some eighties Merciel being driven far too slowly for her liking. She dropped a cog and overtook him.
“Honestly, who do they think they are” said Julia, dissmissively.
“Exactly. It’s not like we have anywhere to be!” replied Cath.
“Ex-act-ly” replied Julia, reaching for her water bottle. It was mineral water, of course.
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Knowing that the next section was mostly wide-open freeway followed by a twisting series of mountain passes and finally a brief blast through Alicante, Walter gave it everything he got. The Guardsman’s I6 sounded good at full chat, which was an encouraging sign for him. However, he also realized that many other competitors would be much faster than him on this part of the route - but not the ones he was expecting.
“Rats!” he exclaimed as the dreaded Communitasia overtook him up in the hills. Seething with fury, he vowed to reclaim the position as soon as possible. And so he drove like a man possessed, seeking to make up time through this section and the next.
When he got to the city he had a new problem to contend with. No, it wasn’t another opponent, but the growing police presence in Alicante made him desperate to escape - and not for the first time. Even so, he stood a fair chance of getting away, but at this early stage of the run, it seemed like gambling on superior fuel economy would not pay off… For now at least.
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As Pasquale rowed through the gears down the A-341, Christoforo breathed a sigh of relief, as it seemed as though they and the other competitors had dodged a bullet in their wild escape from the roadblock. The sunrise was spectacular over the hills, and what better place to enjoy it than in a car like this? Christoforo mused to himself, rolling the pace notes over to the next section.
The upcoming run was to be an easy one; rejoining the Autovias for a flat-out blast toward Alicante. A fuel stop was noted as required on the pace notes, probably somewhere around Murcia based on the distance and the team’s careful estimates based on the run down to Malaga. The 330 performed admirably as it rejoined the highway, V12 at full chat as the car lept forward down the road, Christoforo focusing intently on the road ahead, spotting traffic and the local poliziotti for Pasquale. Weaving and ducking through traffic as it intensified - even though it’s a Sunday, the roads were getting busier and busier - Pasquale noticed a small white sports car keeping pace with them, matching their speed and moves one for one. I wonder if that’s one of our competiors back there? he wondered to himself, the view in the side mirrors blurry from the vibration and buffeting at speeds far in excess of the limit. Could be…best to keep them behind us then, pressing the accelerator pedal just that little bit harder.
As the road wound its way through the valleys and scrubland of Andalusia, the lads would come across another one of their fellow contestants; some screaming up from behind and overtaking the 330 like it was standing still, as the big, pink BM F-219 did not long after rejoining the Autovia, while others it was the opposite, the red Scagliati more than holding its own. One fellow contestant caught the attention of Pasquale and Christoforo; the young couple in the unmistakable, deep red JHW Peregrine, who curiously passed them several times over the course of the next few hours, the V12 engine of that car so loud it drowned out the noise of the 330’s engine, as well as the wind noise from the open roof. The third time the Peregrine blew past the lads, Christoforo turned to Pasquale and made a face, as though to ask, “how is that possible?” Pasquale shrugged, pointed at the red roadster as it disappeared into the distance, then motioned to the 330’s own fuel gauge, itself showing less than a quarter tank now.
Running into the services outside Murcia, the lads got their answer, with the Peregrine at a pump on the other side of the service station, the young woman pumping gas into the car glancing over and giving a wave to Pasquale, as Christoforo took a spot in line, hoping that Pasquale would finish brimming the 330’s tanks before the bleary-eyed family ahead stopped arguing with their kids about which chocolate bar they wanted. Taking his turn at the wheel, Christoforo roared back onto the highway, blowing past the family he just saw in the gas station as the Scagliati barreled down the highway in the run toward Alicante, traffic getting heavier as the racers approached the big city. Taking the first exit off the highway, Christoforo turned and shouted to Pasquale, “Hey, we’ve got company! The crazy guys in the costumes are right behind us!”
Pasquale turned a shade pale as he replied, excited shouting coming out of the police scanner’s earpiece, “Christopez, two Stormtroopers in a sports car are about to be the least of our worries…”
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Decending the hill was still a winding rough road, A family driving what looked like a Yugo out of a side road must not have seen him comming. Otis had to yank the wheel hard left, traveling what seemed like several hundred feet down the opposite shoulder. “Damn that could have gotten messy.”
“Finaly” Otis thought to himelf when he got to the A-92, “a straight stretch of road.” Even with the staight road and light early morning traffic Otis had to weave back and fourth to avoid the other cars.
A little more than an hour into the race Otis had to make the first of many fuel stops. Jake ran to a bush gave it a sniff then began watering it as Otis began filling the tank with fuel. Otis counted every loud car that passed by while he fueled it up trying to keep track of where he was in the pack. At the rate they were passing by much of the pack was still tight together, 8 or 9 cars passed in the 4 minutes it took to fuel up.
Popping a fresh chew in his mouth Otis started tearing back onto the main road. Much was peacefull during the next leg of the drive, considering the 40 some odd racers tearing through the country 100mph faster than the speed limit. Jake even took the opportunity to curl up and take a nap. As a car works it way past Otis is casually singing along to
As they were about 30 miles outside of Alicante Otis heard the scanner chime up about the race again. Descriptions of 19 cars ahead of his came over the next 12 minutes, hmm he had lost track of a few that had gotten ahead of him.
Looking at the fuel guage, and knowing that the police were getting ready with plenty of time to get into position this time Otis decided to stop early for fuel. (Approx 10km early, I’ll sacrifice the time to have fuel to get away) It was too bad too, Otis was about to regain a position just a few seconds behind the Tsukuba and closing at a good pace. But it was better to play it cool and safe considering the trouble up ahead.
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Part 2:
Sumgit was really quite surprised. Either he was a much better driver than he had given himself credit for, or he really could tune an RB30…the third (and really, most likely) option was other entrants having a bad run. Pushing as hard as he could up these twisting roads the car seemed to be running like a dream. Fuel wasn’t going to be an issue for a while, and some of these cars were so fat, they were just about rolling off the road through the turns. He’d managed to pass a flash looking Erin, that horrid green thing (nearly copping an empty energy drink can to the windscreen as he did so) and a… “What the hell is THAT?” orange supercar.
As the turns opened up he could see a peppering of cars off in the distance… more “large coloured dots” that were going faster than other coloured dots. Now, if he could just get away from Bumblebee…
Part 3:
“What’s this guy with the cameras doing? Is he recording?.. OOH!”
Sumgit smiled and waved as he passed the large rumbling coupe, and that Blues Brothers-wannabe that seemed to be fairly well matched with it. As he sped along what was clearly the right course (he could tell by the fact that he was passing a lot of cars, some, quite impressive, others, just plain odd) filling up, Sumgit began to think about fuel… but his mind started to wander WARNING: DO NOT CLICK!!!
Film-makers, Cosplayers, a guy waving a gun around, and a pair with the fashion-sense of depression-era Russian Politicians. There were some weird peeps in this race, and many had already fallen victim to their burn rates. The Breezer coughed once as he crested a small sharp hill, letting him know that the tank was dangerously low.
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Team Angus - Chapter Three
Now this was more like it! The highway was straight, smooth and headed downhill which meant that Ben could keep the Bushranger at maximum warp, yet he was able to relax due to a lack of corners. I kept an eye on the Chevalier but it wasn’t until the highway levelled out that they would make their move…
I’d started to daydream about Plymouth Superbird-like modifications to the Bushranger when I heard Ben curse. I quickly looked about and had the displeasure of seeing the Chev pulling alongside, then away; the bastard drafted us!!! The Chevalier distraction allowed a couple more contestants to slip by which meant we were firmly in the rump of the contestants and, barring a miracle, unlikely to win the grand prize.
I refused to let our predicament faze us, it was way too early to write us out of contention, but then we hit a twistier section of the highway, Ben clearly began to concentrate more, as the Bushranger once again found itself outside of it’s primary skill-set! Deciding that drift would look better than grip on the film, Ben began sliding through the turns as we neared the city of Alicante. This proved to be the wisest course as the Bushranger started to flash a light on the dash; our fuel level had just hit 50km to go!!!
Please, please, please no-one set off the cops! The last thing we needed was getting (literally) caught with our (metaphorical) pants down trying to re-fill our fuel tank…
TO BE CONTINUED
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#StillNotLast #PossiblePositionToBattle?
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GAR Part 2
Since nothing particularly interesting happened in chapter 1 and 2 the story’s skipped to chapter 3…
“Damn that fat-ass muscle car” screamed Johnny, while fiddling with the cigarette lighter, “get past the damn thing already”
“Ya know, Im trying but there aint no way im gonna pass it in the mountains the damn car’s too wide”
"Well try and get past them on the highway. We’ve got 440 ci they wont stand a chance "
“Well whaddya think Im doing?” replied Elliot, flooring the accelerator.
Drafting behind the Bushmaster they eventually overtake it…
“Ha SUCK IT” laughed Johnny putting his middle fingers against the window.
“Johnny, watch it. We dont know who they are, besides, where running low on gas we’ll need to fill her up asap”
A while later in the city…
"…And its Matt Sierra in the lead! He overtakes the Escort on the inside in his more nimble Vitesse. What an exciting day of racing in Eurocircuito de Lousada…
“Johnny change the radio to the cop frequency. Im getting sick and tired of this rallycross crap”
“Sure thing”
The radio crackles until Johnny gets the right frequency
“Hey, Johnny what did it say…Johnny, you know Spanish right?” asked Elliot while peeking at the fuel reading.
“Fuuuck” muttered Johnny “FUUCK. The city is full of cops”
… TO BE CONTINUED
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“Boooring,” Teuvo said on the highway, his foot firmly planted on the accelerator. “You call this boring?” Jorma asked. "We’re blasting down the highway at over 200km/h and you call it boring? " “Well, the other racers are driving much faster cars,” Teuvo answered while waving his hand to a competitor who was zooming past them. “The heat’s off for now, the road’s straight and our car is tuned for acceleration - not a very exciting mix, is it?” “Well, when you put it like that, I kinda see your point,” Jorma said. A moment of silence entered the car, save for the engine and road noises. Time passed. Then the men noticed something: the road got twistier and more interesting. “A hairpin!” Teuvo exclaimed. “Finally, it gets interesting again.” He started to slide around the corners and get into the zone again.
As they neared the city, Jorma warned: “I heard that the city’s being locked down by the police. The chatter’s going wild.” Teuvo silently acknowledged this with a nod. He was too concentrated on the road to actually worry about the cops, and with the city just around the corner, he was worried about the traffic and weaving around it more than anything else.
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