Colleague Cliff Atiyeh did a great job in catching the spirit of last Friday’s convertible convention – a rare gathering of most all of the automotive industry’s convertibles, their publicists, and the automotive media.
One of the most welcome vehicles in attendance was a 2009 Dodge Viper, shepherded by Lisa Barrow, Chrysler’s East Region Communications manager.
“I thought I was bringing it to Boston for its swan song,” she said, “Then we got word last week that we [Chrysler] were keeping it in production so this became a celebration.”
Late in the afternoon I was asked, “Do you mind taking the Viper and driving Geno [Geno Effler, Volvo vice president of public affairs] to Peabody?”
Er, no. Actually, it would be my pleasure.
The Viper, to me, is the quintessential American muscle car – brute power, great looks and about as much tact as a grunge band crashing a cotillion. Driving it, I came to envy those with the wherewithal – money and necessary exhibitionist streak – needed to own one.
Meanwhile, we reveled in the envious looks the Viper got on the road, either parked or moving, and compiled 10 memories of a weekend in the driver’s seat.
In no particular order:
Power. That’s brute power as in 600 horsepower and 560 lb.-ft. of torque. The acceleration is amazing. A Viper’s power curve seems never-ending. Handling is amazing on the road and those ridiculously wide 345/30ZR19 tires deserve a trip around a racing circuit.
Noise. The side pipes have a pure American sound. You don’t sneak up on anyone, and the entire neighborhood knows every time you fire it up.
The clutch. Ohmigosh. Nothing I’ve driven approaches the stiffness of this mechanism. Think how much weight you can press for 15 reps on a leg-press machine, and you’ve got an idea. We got caught in a nighttime paving project on Rte. 128 – a 45-minute creep as four lanes merged into one. At the half-hour mark my left quad began to quiver, and I wondered, “What happens if it cramps?” Fortunately, it didn’t happen.
Colleague Cliff Atiyeh did a great job in catching the spirit of last Friday’s convertible convention – a rare gathering of most all of the automotive industry’s convertibles, their publicists, and the automotive media.
One of the most welcome vehicles in attendance was a 2009 Dodge Viper, shepherded by Lisa Barrow, Chrysler’s East Region Communications manager.
“I thought I was bringing it to Boston for its swan song,” she said, “Then we got word last week that we [Chrysler] were keeping it in production so this became a celebration.”
Late in the afternoon I was asked, “Do you mind taking the Viper and driving Geno [Geno Effler, Volvo vice president of public affairs] to Peabody?”
Er, no. Actually, it would be my pleasure.
The Viper, to me, is the quintessential American muscle car – brute power, great looks and about as much tact as a grunge band crashing a cotillion. Driving it, I came to envy those with the wherewithal – money and necessary exhibitionist streak – needed to own one.
Meanwhile, we reveled in the envious looks the Viper got on the road, either parked or moving, and compiled 10 memories of a weekend in the driver’s seat.
In no particular order:
Power. That’s brute power as in 600 horsepower and 560 lb.-ft. of torque. The acceleration is amazing. A Viper’s power curve seems never-ending. Handling is amazing on the road and those ridiculously wide 345/30ZR19 tires deserve a trip around a racing circuit.
Noise. The side pipes have a pure American sound. You don’t sneak up on anyone, and the entire neighborhood knows every time you fire it up.
The clutch. Ohmigosh. Nothing I’ve driven approaches the stiffness of this mechanism. Think how much weight you can press for 15 reps on a leg-press machine, and you’ve got an idea. We got caught in a nighttime paving project on Rte. 128 – a 45-minute creep as four lanes merged into one. At the half-hour mark my left quad began to quiver, and I wondered, “What happens if it cramps?” Fortunately, it didn’t happen.
The heat. Even with the top down, heat seeps into the cockpit from the engine and those humungous side pipes. Getting out of the Viper pretty much involves resting either calves or hamstrings on the wide doorsill/side pipe housing. It would be good hot pack treatment for a hamstring pull.
The engine. 8.4 liters. V-10. Dual air intakes. Everyone wants to see the hood raised, including the prim lady who lives next door and isn’t much interested in many things automotive.
The convertible top. It’s no fun driving this car with the top up. Open the trunk, release one latch, reach up and push the top back. That’s pretty much how simple it is to turn the car into its rightful configuration.
Gas consumption. A 250-mile weekend roundtrip consumed a full tank of gas – a 16 mpg average.
The six-speed transmission. A manual transmission is the only option. At 65 m.p.h., going downhill, we popped it into sixth gear and found the engine lugging at 1,200 rpm! One the flip side, it was easy to hit 45 m.p.h. in first and 65 in second, when it was time to back off.
The window sticker. MSRP was $84,460. Add $600 for the venom red paint, $3,000 (!!!) for the silver racing stripes, $595 for the graphite instrument panel bezel, $1,790 for the upgraded sound system/navigation system, $700 for forged polished “Razor” wheels, $1,700 for gas guzzler tax and an $850 destination charge and you come out with a bottom line just short of $94,000.
The appeal. The family nieces – a group of young ladies between 6 and 12 years old – thought a ride around the block was “cooler than a rollercoaster ride” and the highlight of their cousin’s second birthday party. But the best part? The guest of honor, my 2-year-old grandson, asking: “Me go for ride, too.”
You betcha can, buddy.
