A Normal Day

by Groundride

Groundride woke up slowly to the sound of a garbage truck outside at 15 minutes past 8:18, which was an hour and 18 minutes past a day and 30 minutes ago, which was when the meeting he was supposed to be at was. sh*t. He’ll show up in 5 days 22 hours and 42 minutes and pretend that his secretary had said next Sunday instead of THIS Sunday, that’s what he’ll do.

Then, with a stroke of amazing luck, Groundride realized that he was the boss.

“That will certainly simplify things,” he thought aloud, “I'll just tell everyone else that the meeting has been postponed a week and give them all a free dinner.”

Groundride grinned mischievously at the sudden position of great power he found himself in, being the CEO of some random technology company and all. He leaped out of bed, his bare feet making a satisfying “thuf” sound as he landed on the floor. Stepping into a pair of worn out shoes he made his way to the door that led through the wall separating his bedroom from the rest of the warehouse he lived in.

When he entered the main floor of his warehouse he did the same thing he’d done every morning since he’d gotten this place. Passed out. Coming to several minutes later, Groundride gazed doubtfully at the collection of cars his warehouse contained. He looked at his Ferraris: a 308 and an f40. He looked at an incomplete track Mclaren that he’d temporarily halted work on. He grinned at his Datsun 510 and his Nissan 2000gtr. Then he beamed at his absolute favorite section, the Porsches: a 944, a 993, a 996 gt3 rs, and his newest toy, the pinnacle of all things wonderful, the Carrera GT.

If this was a dream, he would probably kill himself promptly after waking up by driving his 1991 Mercury Tracer into a wall.

The Tracer was there too, in a far corner of the warehouse. It was the car he took on dates until he was certain that the girl wasn’t a gold digger, or whatever the appropriate term for money-hungry-bitch was.

Seeing as he had some free time, Groundride decided to take the CGT down to the Feroci garage to see who was going to be around a bit later for some races or something. He was a bit uneasy still about racing the Carrera so he would probably just hang out and maybe go out for a few quick solo runs to get used to the awkward clutch on the thing.

He opened the garage door nearest the car that would more than likely kill him and went on his way. The Carrera GT was black in a horrible attempt to be slightly less flashy so that it might take longer for some gentleman walking down the sidewalk to notice it and give it that “habbada…. I thought those only existed in magazines” look and stumble into a ditsy blonde, also distracted, gawking at the car(for a completely different reason), walking in the opposite direction.
(now present tense!)
Groundride doesn’t like to draw attention to himself, but he likes really fast cars more than he dislikes attention, so he gets the cars and deals with it.

Finally making it to the Feroci garage, Groundride finds Uzer and OZ tinkering under OZ’s Mirage, surely doing some modification that is both legal and safe.

“Where is everybody?” asks Groundride.

“Hmm.. not sure,” seeps out from under the Mirage, “but Diesel left the rarri’ here, so we’re keeping it.”

“Sounds fair. Any chances of some racing going on later?”

“Many chances, some of the folks from Feroci Europe and Feroci America are flying in later so your story can have more to it.”

“Great, wanna go get some lunch?”

“It’s 10 am.”

“…AND?!”

“Dup should be here in a few minutes, then we’ll go. Maybe.”

With coincidental timing rivaling that of an 80s action movie a pink s2000 downshifts to first outside and screams briefly into the garage space next to Groundrides CGT.

“Hello!” Groundride shouts over the still idling Honda.

“Aye”

“I thought you flew in, how’d you get your car here already?” Groundride finished awkwardly loudly as the car had been shut off at “get.”

“I used my massive muscles to toss it here!”

“Good aim.”

“Thanks. Sexy Carrera, wrong color. Where is everybody?”

Rolling out from under OZ’s car Uzer grinned, “Some people just cannot cope with how sexy Feroci is, so they leave while no one is looking. Intimidated I guess.”

****time goes by, people show up, lunch is eaten, evening hits the sky making a slighty discomforting “cla clunk, grrrrurrzzzaaa… pa!” sound. Or maybe that was a ricer in the distance trying to drive a standard. Races draw nearer, nearer, nearer still..****

Dense crowds begin building up near the Feroci garage, as they seem to do when people suspect racing. How they knew to show up is questionable, seeing as no races had been announced or even confirmed at this point. It was confirmed now. Dense crowds are only a disappointment away from being angry mobs, and no one likes an angry mob.

Groundride decides that he’s had about enough not driving for the moment and takes the Carrera out to “check for bad road conditions and/or hiding police” (read “drive really fast”).

Back at the garage the usual happenings are happening. Various renditions of Gran Turismo were being played. GT-1 was showing people the results of his “accidentally” leaving his GT3 at the RUF factory in Pfaffenhausen Germany while he was out of town on business. Oops! After hurting his neck leaving the RUF parking lot, he decided that hadn’t been that bad of an idea after all. Too bad Groundride isn’t in his 993 tonight, it is time for a rematch. 92f is here in his 993(feroci site says 933, but I cant find evidence of that existing so I’m assuming its supposed to be 993). Hmm…

With another instance of exceptionally odd timing Groundrides CGT screams past the garages parking lot sounding like an f1 car running late to a race as it nearly hits a few spectators trying to give a warm welcome.

“f*ck!” murmurs a Groundride who’d been caught up in the drive, completely missing his turn.

He slams on the brakes from 200+ miles per hour straight to 30ish in mere seconds, turns to the left, flicks the e-brake for moment while simultaneously shifting to second and placing the accelerator comfortably back on the floor(where it spent most of its time) creating a subtle whirling cloud of smoke around the back tires as the half a million dollar super car flings around 180 degrees and jets back to its garage space for the night. Warily, not wanting to get out, Groundride opens the door and gets out.

“So, how are the roads?” asks Dal as he finishes setting up the fuel curves in his RS200.

“Err… uhh… right, the roads… pretty good. Looks like they’re getting read for some road work, slalomed through some highway cones that were set up. Crews aren’t out yet though, so its not a problem…”

“Police?”

“Didn’t see any.”

“Excellent, 92f and GT-1 are about to get their race on, should be good.”

In the garage 92f and GT-1 are warming up their engines in an automotive symphony that makes the hair on the back of any car enthusiasts neck stand straight up as if trying to peer over that pesky head to see what’s making that beautiful noise.

Finally, they crept to the onramp. In a fury of beautiful engineering and driving the two heavily modified Porsches shot off onto the “track” in a battle of the last of the air-cooled 911 vs. the best of the current water cooled variety of the car. The gt3 takes the early lead with the 993 not far behind but can it hold it? Maybe.

Coming up on the first of many hard corners 92fs lighter, more tuned for tight tracks, 993 starts to gain and passes GT-1 on the inside nearly hitting a police car that shouldn’t be on the “track.” A police car?! Sunuvabitch! This just got more interesting.

The shaken officer fumbles around in his car until he finds the switch for his lights and proceeds to take pursuit of the GT3. Running the plates before the monster pulls fully out of sight he finds out that the vehicle is registered to an “Elvis Presley.” Feroci has connections at the DMV.

Knowing his chances of catching either of the race bred Porsches quickly disappearing in front of him, the officer radios ahead to get some back up. Much like in The Blues Brothers movie, all of the police cars crash into one another in a hilarious pile up that makes this story easier to end.

After recovering from their separate but equal fits of laughter, our heroes are back on track. Through the final segment of the race 92f and GT-1 are staying relatively neck-and-neck.

“Zoooommm, bwaaaaaa, graaaaaaa, vrrrrrrrrr...”

After several minutes of making these types of sounds in his now parked car, an excited GT-1 emerges. Excited for good reason of course. He'd just won... a few minutes ago.

*PS.: I was going to have dal and eddy race here, since they both have rally-type cars.. then there was going to be another race.. but i didn't get that far, 4 pages in word was enough. *Publish