To continue my fantastic car day, my old friend Chip dropped by to drop a bomb on me...he bought a C7 Corvette. To those that don't know Corvette nomenclature, C7 means the 7th generation. It's a culmination of what the Corvette has always been: an amazing sports car.
There is hardly a review that one can read that doesn't gush over just how good this car is. 6.2 liter V8 with 455 horsepower and 460lb/ft of torque. 3300 pounds. 8 speed transmission. 3.9 seconds to 60mph, 11.9 in the quarter...all while turning almost 30mpg on the highway. How is that for a 21st century muscle car? Speaking of muscle cars, those four exhaust tips peaking out of the rear valance sound like 1969 all over again. Push the kick ass little starter button and WHOOOMP! there it is.
And I did push the starter button and I did drive this little red she-devil. The seats, the steering wheel, the glass roof, the custom baseball stitched interior...they all add up to a luxurious experience that doesn't take away from the fact that this car will kick ass when you want it to.
And it will also stop HARD when you want it to. The dinner-plate sized rotors and monster red calipers are NOT FOR SHOW, even though they look damn good.
Stingray still means something. These little emblems should send some pleasant little chills up your spine if you are a Corvette fan.
Vents are placed all over the car, and they are functional. No 1980's fake vents here, people.
This is the business end of the Stingray. It's clean, it's tidy. It's a monster motor packed into a small-block size. There aren't many super-car engines that are physically this small on the outside while displacing 6.2 liters on the inside. The magic of 60+ years of small-block development.
Speaking of displacement, the aluminum block lets you know what you've got your hands on.