That might explain the 69 pontiac 400 HO motor rated at 335hp and my 69 Firebird 350HO was rated at 325hp. It would stay side by side with a 400 GTO. Before that I had a 425 CI Buick wildcat 2 dr hardtop that would accelerate as fast as my buddies 389 tripower GTO. Of course, not on the street.
Not to mention other greats, like the Daytona Charger and Plymouth Superbird: one of my friends in Peoria, which was one of the outlets for the 'limited production' vehicles like these, got a Charger Daytona. One night we went out on the highway east of town to see what it might do. I was in the back seat, had a view of the speedometer: we were cruising at about 120 MPH and it sounded absolutely effortless. My friend started gently pressing his foot to it and I watched the speedo instantly respond, and then I felt the back of the car sinking down, a lot. He did, too, and thinking something was wrong, let up on it: at about 90 MPH the sensation went away. He ran this routine twice more, 90-145 MPH and back down, and it was predictable, he said. We ran out of road and had to turn around, had taken about 15 minutes to reach the next town. On the way back, it took 10 minutes and about 30 seconds, and I could not see the bottom of the speedo, don't know how far down there it went: I think the dial went to 180 MPH. That car never broke a sweat, either.
But, that same night a 440 GTX met us, and being the dragster those were with their 4.xx:1 rear gears, dusted us but good. Then the GTX came up to a Hemi GTX in front of us, and that Hemi dusted the 440!
Later that same night, my friend Mark (who's dad was the president of Shell Oil in those days, and who gifted Mark with a Shelby GT500KR convertible for making straight "A" grades the whole first year at Bradley U) came by to visit, so we went back to Main Street and Steak & Shake drive-in to watch some more. On the way, a 'Vette (called a Mako-Stingray in those days) came up alongside Mark and flipped him off. Mark waited until we came to the first light together, and when the light went green, Mark let the 'Ray reach the manhole at the center of the intersection before letting off his brake. Then his 428 SCJ-powered Shelby passed the Chevy before 1/2 block had gone by, and Mark stopped at the next stoplight (yellow) so we could wave the 'Vette in. We had 4 in the Shelby, the 'Vette had only a driver.
Ah, summer nights in Peoria, circa 1969.
That same summer I rode my SuperHawk to Chicago to visit my brother. We went to the Pilot gas station there, to watch more of these shows: Hiway 83 went along the west side of O'Hare field straight as a string, with no stoplights, for 3/4 mile north of town. There, up on the hillside, we had friends who would bring some walkie-talkies and talk to the guys at the stoplight, so we could tell each other what was coming their way next. Sometimes we'd do this until 3 or 4 AM, as the show never stopped except for the occasional cop who came rolling by. One particularly memorable contest this night came between a Camaro and a Cobra. We called 'up the road' to let the others know: when the light went, the Cobra, I thought, had chosen not to run. I was wrong: after the Camaro left about 500 miles of black rubber streaks all the way across the 4-lane intersection and was roaring off into the dark, the Cobra rather quietly SHOT across the intersection, sounded like he left in 2nd gear. I heard that 427 hit 6K RPM at least, in the dark: then the report came back on the walkie-talkies. The guys up there were laughing so much they could hardly explain: apparently, the Cobra passed the Chevy somewhere in the middle, slid to a stop at the next light, and the driver got out and waved in the Camaro, which kept going at an estimated 120 MPH.
Then came the summer of 1971, when I had my K1. I had been in Chicago for 2 weeks in the early summer (to get this bike) and was taking the long way back to Peoria, on a bunch of 2-lane roads in the dark. On one of them, there was lots of traffic going the same direction, so I was passing here and there, keeping about 15-20 MPH above the traffic as I went. Ahead of me was a Chevy of some kind, doing something similar, looked like a Chevelle. Pretty soon I caught up to it, a beautiful copy of an SS 396 with a raised hood and what sounded like 2 carbs, probably 4bbls. He could really jump out from behind another car and get with it. I followed along for a while, but was getting tired of his excessive gas fumes and decided to pass. I ran around him and behind a semi, then hopped it to a station wagon doing probably 80. Then here came the Chevelle, seemed like he wanted past me, so I let him pass the wagon. As soon as he pulled in front of it, I hopped back out and dropped to 3rd, around 70 MPH, and rapped to red, then picked 4th: as I came up on the Chevy, the SOB jumped INTO MY LANE, almost hitting me. There were no other cars in front of him, either. So, I decided to head to the right lane, and he cut me off again(!). We came over a hill like this, into the back of another car at about 70 MPH, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to put the Chevelle behind me, and passed both at red in 4th. Then the moon went behind a cloud and I couldn't see real far, so I dropped back to 70 or so, into the back of another truck. Here came the Chevy again, and around the truck. The moon came back out and I could see about a mile down the road, so I went around the truck and as I came around the Chevelle he started to again pull into my lane. There was a passing lane on the other side at that moment, so I dropped to 3rd at red and pulled up next to the guy to look in his face: he was grinning wide at me and jumped on it: I shifted to 4th and his face fell. Then I back off to where I was close to his grille, then hit 5th and took off. He finally gave up: the Chevy sounded like it was at redline already, and I was only doing about 120 when I went into high. I kept this up until my arms ached from the wind (no Vetter on that K1), then dropped back to my original routine until I reached Pekin. Never did see the SS again.
