#mildred did get officially approved to go with !!!

[dragonwysper]

Y'all I have to be AWAKE right now

[gianarosegoestothemovies]

New Queer Cinema

Starting from the late 1980s through early 1990s, a “new wave” of queer films became critically acclaimed in the film industry, allowing the freedom of sexuality to be featured in films without the burden of approval from the audience. This raw and honest film genre displays the truth, secrets, and vulnerability of the LGBTQ+ community and the representation that is deserved. The New Queer Cinema movement was started by scholar Ruby Rich who wrote “This movement in film and video was intensely political and aesthetically innovative, made possible by the debut of the camcorder, and driven initially by outrage over the unchecked spread of AIDS. The genre has grown to include an entire generation of queer artists, filmmakers, and activists.” (Rich) This movement started from Rich’s writing piece, not the filmmakers themselves. An article by Sam Moore discusses Rich’s start of the movement. He states, “Rich acknowledges that the films and filmmakers she considers under the umbrella of New Queer Cinema (including Todd Haynes, Cheryl Dunye, Isaac Julien, Gus Van Sant and Gregg Araki), don’t share a single aesthetic vocabulary or strategy or concern.” Instead, they’re unified by the ways that they queer existing narratives, subvert expectations and foreground queerness in material where it had been only implicit” (Moore). The journey through the New Queer Movement started with Ruby Rich defining the movement through her writing and inspiring filmmakers to continue producing movies with the correct representation.

           Actress from Gone with the Wind Susan Hayward claimed that Queer cinema existed “decades” before an official title was given to the genre. French filmmaker Jean Cocteau created Le sang d'un poète in 1934 which is documented as one of the earliest Queer films. This avant-garde style of film is associated with Queer cinema filmmakers such as and is displayed in many upcoming films such as Ulrike Ottinger, Chantal Akerman and Pratibha Parmar. The influence of Queer theory that emerged from the late 1980s helped guide the movement with the creators. The theory states "Challenge and push further debates on gender and sexuality.” Another closely related statement by feminist theory states,"Confuse binary essentialisms around gender and sexual identity, expose their limitations.” Queer cinema filmmakers were sometimes known to depict their films in a “mainstream” way that is agreeable to the audience. There was no exposure to the truths and horrors that the LGBTQ+ community experience and had a lack of representation of historical elements or themes. The concept of “straightwashing” was described to filmmaker Derek Jarman’s 1991 historical film Edward II. This film received backlash from the LGBTQ+ community due to the film’s queer representation catering to heterosexuality and heteronormativity.  

           The truth of the movement was for Queer films to stop romanticizing or bringing positive images of gay men and lesbian woman. The push for authenticity and liberation for the community needed to be represented in films. New Queer films were more radical and sought to challenge social norms of “identity, gender, class, family and society.” (Wikiwand.com).

           To quote the amazing drag queen of all time RuPaul “Everyone is born naked, and the rest is drag” the idea of gender identity and representation in the community is unlimited, why do you need to follow the norms of society when anything is possible? The late 90s documentary Paris is Burning introduced the audience to drag culture in New York City and the people of color who were involved in the community. The term “aesthetic” was repetitive in the research of New Queer Cinema which suggests the significance involved with the style of the films. The documentary includes the aesthetic of the drag world involving the makeup, fashion, and politics. AIDS activism was involved heavily in New Queer films and ridiculed the failure of Ronald Reagans acknowledgment of epidemic and the social stigma experienced by the gay community. Conservative politics occurred during this movement resulting in lack of media coverage and government assistance for the LGTBQ+ community. This political struggle did not discourage the community and the fight is still continuing today.

           Beginning in the 2010s LGBT filmmakers Rose Troche and Travis Mathews created a “newer trend” in queer filmmaking that evolved toward more universal audience appeal. In an article from Wikiwand.com states,

           “Rich, the originator of the phrase New Queer Cinema, has identified the emergence in the late 2000s of LGBT-themed mainstream films such as Brokeback Mountain, Milk, and The Kids Are All Right as a key moment in the evolution of the genre.[20] Both Troche and Mathews singled out Stacie Passon’s 2013 Concussion, a film about marital infidelity in which the central characters' lesbianism is a relatively minor aspect of a story and the primary theme is how a long-term relationship can become troubled and unfulfilling regardless of its gender configuration, as a prominent example of the trend” (Wikiwand).

           The film Watermelon Woman was one of the first queer films I watched for a film class, and this film allowed me to dive deeper into the subject I care a lot about which is the representation of queer narratives about woman of color. Queer woman and men deal with the most discrimination. It is unfair and cruel to see the difference of racial treatment in the LGBTQ+ community because the backbone motto is full exclusion and equal rights. The film Watermelon Woman shined light on LGBTQ+ black woman and interrogated the “Mammy” stereotype that most films depict about black actresses. Minority narratives were pushed into the circuit of the movement with developed into the later academy-award winning film Moonlight that displays those representations makes film history!

           Films to recognize in the height of the New Queer film movement are

Mala Noche (1986), Gus Van Sant, was an exploration of desire through the eyes of a young white store clerk named Walt and his obsession with a young undocumented immigrant named Johnny. The film is shot in black and white on 16mm film, contains many of the early Van Sant fixations that viewers would later see get refined in My Own Private Idaho, including male hustlers, illegality, and class.

Chinese Characters (1986), Richard Fung, this early film asks still-pressing questions about the nature of gay desire when it’s mediated via pornographic images of white men. The video defies genre, mixing documentary with performance art and archival footage to explore the tensions of being a gay Asian man looking at porn.

Looking for Langston (1989), Isaac Julien, this short film, a tribute to the life and work of Langston Hughes, is a beautiful and vibrant elegy. Julien creates a lineage of queer black ancestors for himself. The film moves like the poetry it recites, playing with the gaze and how various eyes look upon the black male body.

Tongues Untied (1989), Marlon Riggs, guided by the writer Joseph Beam’s statement, “Black men loving black men is the revolutionary act,” Riggs goes through his own complicated journey of homophobia from other black people, and then racism in the gay community, to find a community of queer black people.

Poison (1991), Todd Haynes, the three parts of the film tell a story about ostracism, violence, and marginality: the bullied child who allegedly flies away after shooting his father in order to save his mother (“Hero”), a brilliant scientist who accidentally ingests his own serum to become the “leper sex killer” (“Horror”), and a sexual relationship between two men in a prison (“Homo”). Exploits radical work that Haynes later uses in his other films.

The Living End (1992), Gregg Araki, the film follows Luke, a sexy homicidal drifter who has a distaste for T-shirts, and Jon, an uptight film critic in Los Angeles. Both are HIV-positive, and as their relationship unfolds, they fight about being respectful or lustrous.  

Swoon (1992), Tom Kalin, a black and white film that romanticizes wealthy Chicago lovers kill a 14-year-old boy named Bobby Franks because they want to see if they are smart enough to do it. The murder is more a play of power between them, with Loeb weaponizing sex as a way to control Leopold.

Rock Hudson’s Home Movies (1992), Mark Rappaport, Rock Hudson’s Home Movies is a documentary made up of glances and innuendos from Rock Hudson’s persona, displaying how this dashing, leading man of the Hollywood Golden Age was a closeted gay man.

MURDER and Murder (1996), Yvonne Rainer, is known for her experimental filmmaking and choreography, this film represents a late-in-life lesbian named Doris who suffers from neuroses and breast cancer. Her partner, Mildred, a queer academic, tells the story of their romance as older women. Rainer also makes appearances throughout the film in a tux, going on rants about smug homophobic parents while showing her bare chest with a mastectomy scar.

           1992 was the year of the highest amount of New Queer films being produced and exceeding box office expectations. Upcoming 2000s films such as “Booksmart”, “Call me by your Name”, “The Prom”, and “Rocketman” all represent the truths and authenticity of the LGBTQ+ community and creates pathways for more films to include these cinematic themes. The movement continues to grow and succeed in the film industry with new creators and actors being more honest about the LGBTQ+ community.

[afteriwake]

(Banner by @strangelock221b)

Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures - It all begins with an invitation to Mycroft’s wedding to his PA and seven days at a resort in Jamaica, with the assumption that Molly pretends to be his girlfriend that his mother might be under the impression that he’s going to propose to sooner rather than later. It ends up being so much more than that…

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 8 | BUY ME A COFFEE?

Sherlock and Robert walked around the resort, looking at the various places where people could be sociable, talking as they moved, and eventually found the now infamous, at least to Sherlock, Aunt Mildred at a table with his Uncle Harrington and Molly. He could already hear the spirited discussion of what constituted a lesser work by Dickens from twenty feet away, and he swore he had never seen a gleam so bright in his uncle’s eye before.

Molly spotted them first. “Sherlock!” she said, a wide smile on her face. “Please come stop them from taking this argument to others who don’t share their love of literature.”

“Sorry, I nodded off during Dickens,” he said, leaning over and pressing a kiss into Molly’s hair, just because he could. “Ask me my opinions on the stories of Doyle and I may be worth having enter the fray.”

“Oh, he did write good science fiction,” Harrington said.

“Yes, but H.G. Wells was better,” Mildred said.

Harrington looked for a moment like he was going to disagree, but then stopped and nodded. “I suppose you have a point there. The Time Machine was a stellar work. Not fond of the Guy Pearce adaptation, but I wore through many VHS copies of the original production.”

“And just why don’t you like the Guy Pearce version?” Mildred asked, with a mildly pointed tone and a smile on her face.

“Aunt Mildred, we have a Problem,” Robert said, sitting next to his aunt. “With a capital P and the initials SH.”

“What has he done now?” she asked, nodding towards Sherlock.

“She knows you?”Molly murmured as Sherlock sat next to her.

“I’ll explain later,” Sherlock said back. Then he turned to Mildred. “Not me. At least, not this time. The other problematic Holmes child with those initials.”

The amusement dropped off Mildred’s face. “Shit,” she said.

“You’re acquainted with my eldest nephew?” Harrington asked.

“Unfortunately,” Mildred said. She looked at Sherlock, narrowing her gaze. “Robert filled you in, I take it?”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes.”

“And your pretend girlfriend’s clearance level is high enough to know the truth, I suppose?”

Sherlock started to reply but Molly shook her head. “Not so pretend,” she interjected. “At least, not anymore, I suppose.”

Mildred nodded slowly, giving them an approving look. “Good. One less secret for the bastard to ferret out.”

“I’m missing quite a bit here, aren’t I?” Harrington asked with a frown on his face.

“You have the highest clearance of the Holmes family,” Mildred said, turning to him. “Aside from my soon to be in-law and Sherlock, of course. Robert and I work as Her Majesty’s top line of defense when it comes to national security, and your eldest nephew is a threat to Queen and country.”

Realization dawned on Harrington and he nodded slowly. “Ah. That makes sense.”

“What does?” Robert asked.

“Why half the guests I’ve run into so far from Andrea’s side of the family seem so closed off,” Harrington said. “It fits with the nature of what I’m assuming is your family business.”

Mildred shook her head. “For the lot of us, we seem to be very bad at relaxing.”

“You were doing just fine, dear,” Harrington said. “I never would have guessed.”

Mildred gave him a warm smile. “I like you, Harrington. I think I’m going to have you stay nice and close this week.”

“There are worse places to be,” he replied with a grin of his own. “But I imagine we’ll all be keeping an eye on Sherrinford?”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Sherlock said. “I know less about him than almost everyone else, it seems. But I’m willing to go to great lengths for this week not to be ruined.”

“Well, start discretely spreading the word amongst our family he’s here,” Mildred said to Robert. “I’ll send the ones who we can’t afford to have the bastard see off to a lovely vacation on some other Caribbean isle, and we can dip into funds to make sure the wedding gifts are up to scratch for their unfortunate disappearances from the event.”

“Does that include cousin Sharon?” Robert asked. “She’s a bridesmaid.”

“Damn,” Mildred said. “It does.” She thought for a moment. “Your sister is fond of Dr. Hooper. Suggest she take Sharon’s place.”

“What?” Molly asked, her eyes widening.

“You’re the only one in Sherlock’s small group with any real sense, we all know it,” Mildred said. “That’s why we like you. You rein in this walking hurricane next to you.”

“I’ve never been called a walking hurricane before,” Sherlock said in an approving tone of voice.

“It isn’t a compliment,” Mildred said.

“At least it’s not The Ice Man,” Sherlock retorted.

“Oh, we all knew that was a crock of bull the minute Andrea said she had her sights set on your brother,” Mildred said. “But back to the situation at hand. Make the suggestion, get those people out of here we need to get out as quickly as possible, and tell Mycroft and Andrea to extend more invitations at the last minute to some low-level government officials that they need to curry favour with. You know, the ones most aggravated by this one’s stunt.”

Robert nodded. “I’ll get right on it,” he said. “Might need to steal your companions, as they’re the only parts of the wedding party with high enough security clearance.”

“Do what needs to be done,” Mildred said. Robert stood up, as did Sherlock and Molly, before she turned to face Sherlock. “I do actually find you interesting, you know.”

“I’m glad, as we’ll be family by the end of the week,” Sherlock said.

“There are worse families for my niece to marry into,” Mildred said. “At least you and Mycroft turned out well enough.” She then waved her hand at the three of them and turned back to Harrington.

“That’s our official dismissal,” Robert said. The three of them moved away from the table and Sherlock and Molly turned to Robert. “I suppose we start rounding up people and sending them off.”

Sherlock nodded and Robert began walking ahead of him and Molly. Molly looked up at Sherlock, her eyes slightly wide. “Spies, Sherlock?”

“Family business, apparently,” he said.

“Why is nothing normal in your life?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” he replied. “Do you want to stay a part of it?”

“Of course,” she said, reaching for his hand. He felt his heart lighten at that and then they went to go catch up with Robert. That was one small consolation, at least.

[mousedetective]

Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures (8/?)

And I finished this before I went to bed, so...enjoy!

Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures - It all begins with an invitation to Mycroft’s wedding to his PA and seven days at a resort in Jamaica, with the assumption that Molly pretends to be his girlfriend that his mother might be under the impression that he’s going to propose to sooner rather than later. It ends up being so much more than that…

Read Chapter 1 | Read Chapter 8 | Buy Me A Coffee? | Send Me A Prompt

Sherlock and Robert walked around the resort, looking at the various places where people could be sociable, talking as they moved, and eventually found the now infamous, at least to Sherlock, Aunt Mildred at a table with his Uncle Harrington and Molly. He could already hear the spirited discussion of what constituted a lesser work by Dickens from twenty feet away, and he swore he had never seen a gleam so bright in his uncle’s eye before.

Molly spotted them first. “Sherlock!” she said, a wide smile on her face. “Please come stop them from taking this argument to others who don’t share their love of literature.”

“Sorry, I nodded off during Dickens,” he said, leaning over and pressing a kiss into Molly’s hair, just because he could. “Ask me my opinions on the stories of Doyle and I may be worth having enter the fray.”

“Oh, he did write good science fiction,” Harrington said.

“Yes, but H.G. Wells was better,” Mildred said.

Harrington looked for a moment like he was going to disagree, but then stopped and nodded. “I suppose you have a point there. The Time Machinewas a stellar work. Not fond of the Guy Pearce adaptation, but I wore through many VHS copies of the original production.”

“And just why don’t you like the Guy Pearce version?” Mildred asked, with a mildly pointed tone and a smile on her face.

“Aunt Mildred, we have a Problem,” Robert said, sitting next to his aunt. “With a capital P and the initials SH.”

“What has he done now?” she asked, nodding towards Sherlock.

“She knows you?”Molly murmured as Sherlock sat next to her.

“I’ll explain later,” Sherlock said back. Then he turned to Mildred. “Not me. At least, not this time. The other problematic Holmes child with those initials.”

The amusement dropped off Mildred’s face. “Shit,” she said.

“You’re acquainted with my eldest nephew?” Harrington asked.

“Unfortunately,” Mildred said. She looked at Sherlock, narrowing her gaze. “Robert filled you in, I take it?”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes.”

“And your pretend girlfriend’s clearance level is high enough to know the truth, I suppose?”

Sherlock started to reply but Molly shook her head. “Not so pretend,” she interjected. “At least, not anymore, I suppose.”

Mildred nodded slowly, giving them an approving look. “Good. One less secret for the bastard to ferret out.”

“I’m missing quite a bit here, aren’t I?” Harrington asked with a frown on his face.

“You have the highest clearance of the Holmes family,” Mildred said, turning to him. “Aside from my soon to be in-law and Sherlock, of course. Robert and I work as Her Majesty’s top line of defense when it comes to national security, and your eldest nephew is a threat to Queen and country.”

Realization dawned on Harrington and he nodded slowly. “Ah. That makes sense.”

“What does?” Robert asked.

“Why half the guests I’ve run into so far from Andrea’s side of the family seem so closed off,” Harrington said. “It fits with the nature of what I’m assuming is your family business.”

Mildred shook her head. “For the lot of us, we seem to be very bad at relaxing.”

“You were doing just fine, dear,” Harrington said. “I never would have guessed.”

Mildred gave him a warm smile. “I like you, Harrington. I think I’m going to have you stay nice and close this week.”

“There are worse places to be,” he replied with a grin of his own. “But I imagine we’ll all be keeping an eye on Sherrinford?”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Sherlock said. “I know less about him than almost everyone else, it seems. But I’m willing to go to great lengths for this week not to be ruined.”

“Well, start discretely spreading the word amongst our family he’s here,” Mildred said to Robert. “I’ll send the ones who we can’t afford to have the bastard see off to a lovely vacation on some other Caribbean isle, and we can dip into funds to make sure the wedding gifts are up to scratch for their unfortunate disappearances from the event.”

“Does that include cousin Sharon?” Robert asked. “She’s a bridesmaid.”

“Damn,” Mildred said. “It does.” She thought for a moment. “Your sister is fond of Dr. Hooper. Suggest she take Sharon’s place.”

“What?” Molly asked, her eyes widening.

“You’re the only one in Sherlock’s small group with any real sense, we all know it,” Mildred said. “That’s why we like you. You rein in this walking hurricane next to you.”

“I’ve never been called a walking hurricane before,” Sherlock said in an approving tone of voice.

“It isn’t a compliment,” Mildred said.

“At least it’s not The Ice Man,” Sherlock retorted.

“Oh, we all knew that was a crock of bull the minute Andrea said she had her sights set on your brother,” Mildred said. “But back to the situation at hand. Make the suggestion, get those people out of here we need to get out as quickly as possible, and tell Mycroft and Andrea to extend more invitations at the last minute to some low-level government officials that they need to curry favour with. You know, the ones most aggravated by this one’s stunt.”

Robert nodded. “I’ll get right on it,” he said. “Might need to steal your companions, as they’re the only parts of the wedding party with high enough security clearance.”

“Do what needs to be done,” Mildred said. Robert stood up, as did Sherlock and Molly, before she turned to face Sherlock. “I do actually find you interesting, you know.”

“I’m glad, as we’ll be family by the end of the week,” Sherlock said.

“There are worse families for my niece to marry into,” Mildred said. “At least you and Mycroft turned out well enough.” She then waved her hand at the three of them and turned back to Harrington.

“That’s our official dismissal,” Robert said. The three of them moved away from the table and Sherlock and Molly turned to Robert. “I suppose we start rounding up people and sending them off.”

Sherlock nodded and Robert began walking ahead of him and Molly. Molly looked up at Sherlock, her eyes slightly wide. “Spies, Sherlock?”

“Family business, apparently,” he said.

“Why is nothing normal in your life?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” he replied. “Do you want to stay a part of it?”

“Of course,” she said, reaching for his hand. He felt his heart lighten at that and then they went to go catch up with Robert. That was one small consolation, at least.

[lightening816]

The Guild Gala: A Boxtrolls Fanfic

Special thanks to @motherofallsharks, and @scrapnick for helping this fanfic be made possible.

Chapter 2

    “Oh, Madame, you look radiant.”     “Oh, Mildred, I feel radiant!”

     After breakfast, an stout, older maid at the Monte Cristo house, helped Molly finish her hair while the the young woman brightened up her face with the fluffier powder puff she could find. “I almost want to wear my gown today. Oh I wonder if people will approve of me in it. You know how the ladies at these soirées are.”

    “Not really, Miss.“

    “I just wish the Gala could take place at night, all nice and romantic…but goodness knows how unrealistic that is. If it weren’t for my special…friend…I’d probably be a boxtroll’s dinner by now!” Mildred shifted a little in place. “Are you referring to the Red Hat you’ve mentioned before? Is he the large chap with the bulky arms?” "No, no, that’s Mr. Trout. He’s nice and all, but who I really mean is Mr. Pickles. He promised he’d meet me there. I can’t wait to show him some dance steps. It’ll be perfect!” “When would you want to get ready for the Gala, Madame?” “Well, as soon as possible’ Today I want to go to the Market Square. They say cucumbers can reduce the puffiness in your eyes, and I refuse to look puffy and odd for tomorrow.”

      Mildred helped the Madame out of her morning dress and into one of her casual midday looks, a bright yellow gown with a green outer corset tightened a little too uncomfortably, though she was used to it. The dress was decorated in little pink bows on her square neckline and her hemline. Topped with two wild pigtails of blonde hair and some eye makeup, blush, and pink lipstick, she looked ready to go.

      “Mildred, be a dear, and open the door for me,” Molly asked nicely, clearly in a good mood. “Yes, of course, Madame.”

      Molly grabbed a shopping list from her writing desk, her fan, a parasol, and nodded to the maid as she left. “Wish me luck, dear,” she exclaimed as she hurried down the steps.

“Good luck, Madame,” Mildred replied, watching the woman leave.

She chuckled to herself. “Who says you can’t be a divorcee and still feel that young love?” she sighed.

    Molly didn’t hear that last remark. She carefully climbed down the steps of her lavish home and made the 5 minute trek from her mansion to the Market Place. Many people tipped their hats to her, and she would curtsy in return and fan herself due to the warmth of that Spring day. She smiled to herself. “Even the flowers agree with me,” she said to herself, appreciating the flora surrounding her. The various colors of nature, including a bright blue sky hovering over the valley that surrounded Cheesebridge, made for a splendid day. Save for a couple of white clouds, everything seemed just perfect.

     "WHOOPS!“

    In her moment of daydreaming and admiring the scenery, she didn’t notice a particularly apparent cobblestone that tripped up her little white heeled shoes. She caught herself with her hands planted firmly on the ground.

    An older gentleman wearing an apron hurried over to her. "Oh my, Miss Monte Cristo, are you alright?” He asked in a thick accent. “Oh yes, yes, I’m fine.” She plucked a handkerchief and swipes away some dust. “My mind was a little all over the place,” she said with a smile. Others came by with handkerchiefs of her own, and she gladly used them to clean her hands. Though some of the better dressed women there whispered among themselves, how embarrassed they’d be if they had been so clumsy, Molly wouldn’t let anything phase her; no matter how graceless she seemed to be. She waved her fan across her face and hummed a little tune as she thanked those who helped and went along her way.

    As she walked along the sidewalk, looking for the Produce Caboose, she caught the sight of one man and child in particular; the former of which made her stomach perform a tiny back flip, for she knew from personal experience that he didn’t think much of her, so she hurried along to find her items. …

    “In order to have a White Hat Father, I must be a proper White Hat Daughter.” 

     Though Pepper was no official Red Hat herself, she apparently was one by affiliation. As she and Mr. Snatcher walked on the opposite sidewalk from Molly’s path, the small child’s hand remained firmly grasped around Snatcher’s cold long fingers. She didn’t dare complain about the slight discomfort of his elegant rings pressing against her soft pale skin; another one of Snatcher’s Codes.

     Snatcher’s Codes were subtle but hard to ignore. Whether it was a hand planted firmly on her head (his Code to stay quiet), a tap of the shoulder (a Code to depart from a visit), or the gentle grasping of the back of her shirt or hair (the Code to comply or else), just to name a few, Pepper had been trained like a soldier to follow any and all orders, verbal and otherwise. Ever since he’d found her 8 months beforehand, they had become second nature to her now.

      Pepper occasionally glanced at the rest of Cheesebridge as she and Snatcher walked along. Her mid sleeve length red dress, white tights, and shiny black shoes matched well with her own flat, red girls’ hat wrapped up in a slightly deeper red ribbon. She couldn’t help but look on at herself, the town, and even up at Mr. Snatcher himself.

     In the hand that didn’t hold hers, he held a long elegant walking cane, with a knob shaped like a gold, triangular block of cheese, and the staff itself was long and black. Though Snatcher had no problems walking, he insisted that his Family Heirloom was meant to make him look like a civilized respectable gentleman; and with her and her mother on his arms, they in turn would look civilized and respectable themselves.

     Made sense to the little 7 year old.

     "Good afternoon,“ Snatcher would say to a few townsfolk passing by. He seemed quite pleasant as he tipped his Red Hat to some townsfolk passing by. A few stopped by and nodded in return, but their eyes usually fell on Pepper. "Lovely day, ain’t it?” He would say. “Caught a few more Boxtrolls last night. Won’t be long now before they’re all wiped out, I assure you.”

     Many who stopped would turn and nod to each other, apparently pleased that Snatcher was a certain efficient Bug Man, as it were. “Our children are just a few steps closer to a Boxtroll free world!” Usually the townsfolk would then look to Pepper, who mostly stood there and listened, waiting for some kind of validation or an order. Many interactions began this way. He would introduce her, she would curtsy, and he would insist that she was learning how to be a proper lady. Propriety was a priority, after all. 

     But unlike most days, Snatcher and Pepper didn’t stay too long to chat. Within a few minutes, the man took the girl’s hand again and lightly yanked her down Gueyere Street. The long alleyway proved to be dark and foreboding, even with the sun out. It reminded Pepper of all the times Snatcher would bark at her to keep up, stay focused, and remain within his sight. She certainly had no problem, following his orders today, for though it was bright and sunny everywhere else, apart of her did worry that a stray dog or maybe even a boxtroll would come and rip her out of Snatcher’s firm grip. She stayed right next to him and reached for his red velvet jacket, grasping it firmly but gently in her free hand. He led her to a quiet looking shop that appeared more like a distrustful pub than a common shop. “Father, where are we?” Pepper asked in a small voice. “We’re at Snow’s Shipping Station. Before we go get our gifts for the White Hats, we must stop by here.” “Why don’t we use the Post Office by the docks? Everyone uses that.” Snatcher hummed. “Many do, but this is Family Business, and we don’t tell anyone outside of our little unit about Family Business, do we?” 

    “Oh no, sir…so is this for ‘The Experiment’?”      “Ah, you’re catching on, my little Mouse. There may be hope for you yet,” he said patting her head. “We have your long red hair,” he ran his long fingers through her now short locks. “We just need some royal blue fabric, some adornments, and a pair of heeled shoes.”     “When will you tell me what The Experiment is, Daddy?”      “Soon, my pet, soon,” he told her, cupping her cheek. Pepper smiled, because it was a Code, meaning he was pleased with her.

      Snatcher allowed Pepper to go in first. She noticed how dark the walls were and the dim quality of the lights. As was typical in Cheesebridge, there were a few pictures of cheeses, goats, and cattle on the wall. She reached to touch one, only to feel Snatcher’s cane come down on her shoulder. “Don’t touch anything, Pepper.” “Yes, sir.” They approached a flat dark counter, as he took her hand again and brought her with him. “And stay here,” he ordered. They found a man with wild dark hair sitting behind it. He had a dustiness about him, and looked strikingly similar to Snatcher, clothing-wise, minus the velvet jacket, top hat, and the inclusion of fingerless gloves. Unlike her father, he was quite slender.

      “Mr. Snatcher, what a pleasure it is. And this must be young Miss Snatcher, charmed.” Snatcher used his cane to push Pepper forward. “Introduce yourself, Pepper.” She curtsied to the vendor. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” she replied, as she’d been taught. “Very good,” Mr. Snow replied. He turned his attention back to Snatcher. “Now, Mr. Snatcher, you’re here for your package, yes?”      “Of course,” Snatcher replied in a slightly lower tone. “And I trust this is strictly confidential?” “As you requested,” Snow replied, pulling out a long rectangular package from below his side of the counter. Wrapped in brown packaging and tied with a long thin rope, Pepper went wide eyed at the sight of it. “Good show…in my noble crusade against less than desirable beasts, I’ve learned that those pompous White Hats want to make a fair out of the day Arthur Trubshaw disappeared, make it a social gathering more than anything else.” Pepper rose her eyebrows at this sudden news. 

      Mr. Snow chuckled. “Really? Boxtrolls are counting for less these days.” “Not with me,” Snatcher replied coldly. He reached into his jacket and plucked out a pouch, which Snow opened and tipped over, allowing gold crown coins to fall into his hand. The girl quickly grew bored of their conversation. Yes, yes, Father hates the Boxtrolls; she’d known this since the night he’d taken her. She turned her head away from the counter and noticed a painting of yaks and sheep, surrounded in a gold plated frame. She couldn’t tell the latter however, stepped away for a moment, and touched it, feeling a little delighted at the touch of supposed real gold. She squeaked and twitched at the touch of a cane coming down on her shoulder once more. 

     “EEK!”      “What have I said?!”       “Stay with you and don’t touch anything?”      “Right,” he yanked her back to his side, making the girl blush and put her head down. “Yes, Father.” He gave her a threatening look, before turning back to Snow. “Feel free to keep the pouch,” Snatcher told Mr. Snow. The vendor stuffed it in his pocket. Snatcher tapped Pepper’s shoulder once he took the package. “Come, we’re leaving.” She folded her hands neatly to her chest, waiting for her father to take the first step. Mr. Snow backed away and bowed. “Thank you, sir. Always a pleasure. Splendid to meet you, Miss Snatcher.” Pepper glanced back at him and waved. “Goodbye.” 

     And just like that, they were gone.  …      Dr. Payton was quite proud of herself as she looked at her folder of forensic paperwork. She hummed to herself as she organized that week’s corpses in alphabetical order and putting each client’s paperwork in their own folders. She turned on some music on a nearby phonograph hummed along to the sounds of trumpets, trombones, and saxophones. She yawned in exhaustion, but didn’t feel the desire to sleep. “Coffee! Of course, coffee and a cigarette!” She pulled out a lighter from a drawer and lit up a cigarette she found in her shirt pocket. 

     “Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home,” she sang, through clenched teeth and the occasional cough. “A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there, which seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.” 

     Payton poured some water into a pot of coffee grounds and turned on her stove. She yawned again, but shook it off. “Color me impressed, Johnnie Payne; perhaps you were onto something,” she snickered to herself as she took a moment to water her flowers. The smell of coffee would’ve been lovely if it hadn’t be for her lack of smell, thanks to working in her morgue all night every night. It wasn’t all bad though. She enjoyed working at her own pace, the coolness of night, and getting to hear the voice of her lover from outside.

      The sound of her doorbell echoed from her loft on the third floor. Her head jerked up at the sudden sound, but it caused a smile on her face nonetheless. She splashed some water on her face to appear more alert, sipped a little more of her coffee, and hurried down the steps to the second floor, her doctor’s office. Below in the first floor, underground, was her morgue. She opened her front door and her hopes were confirmed. 

      “Good morning, Dr. Payton. I’ve come for that visit you sent a calling card for,” Mr. Snatcher responded in a legitimate tone, winking at her. Dr. Payton’s smile suddenly turned neutral as she cleared her throat. “Aah yes, Mr. Snatcher, I’m quite glad you’re prompt.” She saw Pepper and put the cigarette out on her mechanical arm. “Pleased to see you, Miss Snatcher,” she said gently. Pepper curtsied though confused. “Thank you for having us,” Pepper said softly. Payton chuckled. “How polite,” she said in return with a wink. “Please come in.” Once everyone was inside, Payton closed to door, whipped herself around, and crouched down. 

    “MUMMY!”     “SPARROW!” 

     Pepper forgot her propriety for a moment to run into Payton’s arms. Though the former was never sure why her parents felt like they had to hide their affections outside of doors, as soon as they closed, she would delight in it, for they could finally be themselves. Payton lifted the small girl into the air and twirled her around. Snatcher watched their embrace intently as they all went up the steps to the top floor. “Love, you look so dapper today. Daddy take you out again?” “Yes, Ma’am! We picked up a package for…”. She put her lips to Payton’s ear. “’Family Business’…” she whispered. Payton gasped. “Family Business, eh? How exciting,” she replied, looking at Snatcher. 

     Snatcher placed the package, including a couple more, on the counter. “No need to whisper, Pepper. Mother is in our little family unit anyway.” He smirked at Payton as he quickly whipped her around, away from Pepper, and dipped her. Payton sensed his strong cologne, blushed in the moment, as his strong hands held her in place. When their lips parted, she giggled. “You know how I feel about dipping, you jerk,” she said flirtatiously. “Oh, bah! Then why do you giggle and blush every time I do so, silly woman?” Payton curved an eyebrow at him. “Because you’re diabolical to a fault, silly man!…But that’s alright,” she retorted, flicking him in the nose. “I’m diabolical too!”

      Though Pepper had seen exchanges similar to these many times before, she still found herself amazed by both parents. Payton, for how bold and sassy she was toward Father, and Snatcher for how strangely lenient he seemed to be when Mother defied him in her own, teasing way. In turn, her strict, practical father when Mother wasn’t around, was a flirtatious expert in the art of love, every time Payton came into the room. “She sure is lucky,” she thought, watching her pick on him so freely. 

     Payton noticed how quick he was to take her attention off of the staring 7 year old, so she freely sat down on the sofa with her. “So what’d you do today, Sparrow?” “We went into town today and bought lots of cheese, and wine, and picked up a huge package!” Pepper replied, smiling at her nickname. Payton curved an eyebrow as Pepper showed her a basket full of Brie, cheddar, Gouda, and Stilton, plus a bottle of red wine. “Cheese and wine, huh? Now why would Father buy such things? Especially all this cheese?” she asked, giving the man raised, knowing eyebrows. Snatcher instinctively grasped his own hand. “Don’t be ridiculous, darling! The Guild Gala is tomorrow and we must present ourselves positively to our White Hats. If I am to be one someday, and if you are to be my supportive family, we must put in effort to be seen in a respectable light.” 

     Payton giggled. “Aha, I see. You and your schemes, love. Too bad I’m not going.” Snatcher curved an eyebrow at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you’re going,” he replied, matter-of-factly. “Mother, you’re the Green Hat of the town! Every member of the Guild just has to come,” Pepper reminded them. “And their families!” Snatcher added. “Sorry, you two; I love you both, but I’ve got plans tomorrow,” Payton replied shaking her metallic hand.        “Do they entail just lounging in that teacup of yours, chugging on wine, with a good book?” Snatcher asked, teasingly.       “…Maybe…” 

      Snatcher chuckled at her. “How respectable…” Payton rolled her eyes with a smile. “Mother, will you wear a dress and everything? Mine will be made of lace on the insides,” Pepper told her.       “Lace on the inside?” Payton asked. “Awfully itchy; even if I were going, I wouldn’t want rough things next to my skin,” Payton replied, sounding teasingly superficial.

     “That’s not what you told me 3 nights ago.”

    Payton fell speechless and blushed. Pepper was confused. “Archibald really…” she replied, swiping some hair from her face. She got up from her seat, and put a kettle on her stove. “You men and your need to impress each other! I get that you want a nice little family, like those boring cheese-stuffed jerks, but I haven’t behaved in many years. Not about to start for some fragrant bug man!” She said with a smile. Pepper gasped and looked over at Snatcher. In her experience, saying ‘No’ to this man about anything, rarely ended well. Her muscles stiffened as he followed her into the kitchen, sneaking up from behind her. After Payton added tea bags to the kettle and turned on the stove, she moved over to the counter and opened the cabinet. “Now, you two hungry?”   

     “In more ways than one,” Snatcher drawled, sneaking a hand in front of her to clutch her chest. Payton blushed, though she didn’t smile. She turned around and found herself crooked nose to crooked nose with him. “Are you trying to intimidate me?” “Is it working?” “Do I look like it’s working?” He wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned over. She gasped at the feeling of his lips on her neck. “Is it working now?” he asked. “No!…no it’s not!” “Are you sure?” kissing her ears. "I-I don’t even have-DON’T kiss me there, you jerk!-don’t even have a good costume. I-I don’t have time for fancy dresses. You know that.”  “I do…but no one else does, do they?” Snatcher chuckled at her. “Let me buy you one, I-”      He felt something tug on his jacket. “Daddy?” Pepper asked. “What do you want?” he asked, annoyed at the interruption. “May I have something to eat?” Payton used that moment to slip away from his embrace. “Pepper, it’s not polite to interrupt!” Snatcher told her. “Oh come now, love. Let the girl have some dinner,” Payton replied, winking at the girl.       “Lunch.”     “Beg pardon?” she asked.      “In England, it’s ‘Lunch’, and later today, we’ll have ‘Dinner’,” he explained.       "Meh? Naaht speikin prahper Angligh?” Payton asked, her face in his own. “Well, bein’ an Irish biird oll ah chan deu es threi, d’yaknowhwatimeanlike!“ she said, exaggerating her Irish accent in a ridiculous way, giving him a wink.      “You’re lucky I can never get tired of you,” he replied in an unamused tone. “Lucky me,” she said, gesturing him to sit down at the kitchen table. “Here, I’ll make you two some lunch,” she said. As she walked back towards Snatcher, she bumped his hip. “Go on and sit, Big Man.” “…Very well,” he took her chin and made her look at him. “But this ain’t over.” Payton smirked and shook her chin away. “Ooh, I’m shaking in my boots.” 

    Payton began boiling water in a different pot, added pasta and olive oil, and added garlic powder and oregano. “So tell me,” she resumed, and gestured to the widest of the packages. “Where’d the big package come from?” “Mr. Snow’s Shipping Station,” Pepper replied. “Mr. Snow? That slippery ol’ weasel? He didn’t try to swindle you, did he?”     Snatcher chuckled darkly at her, causing Pepper to fidget in her seat. “Not this time; last time he tried it, he got himself a bloody good bloodied lip, if you recall. He’s all nice and behaved now.” Payton glanced at him. “Aah that’s right…” she snickered in return. “Unlike some people I know!” he continued giving Pepper a hard stare. The child blushed and put her head down. shamefully. “This kid can’t even follow a simple order sometimes. Walking away from me to touch things that aren’t hers and all!” “I didn’t mean to be bad, Father. I’ll do better next time.” “Next time?” he asked before scoffing. 

    “Oh, Archibald, don’t be too hard on her. Kids need to explore and touch things. Simply unavoidable!” Payton defended, as she put lunch on 3 plates and carried them to the table. “I’ll have you know, Annie, Pepper certainly has no time for such a thing anymore.” He reached for her ear. “Especially not once we get started on our little ‘Experiment’, Ostler…” Payton smirked and stood up, though Pepper was unsure of what he’d said. “Besides, when you’re the daughter of the most respected man in town, time must be further spent on preserving credibility and pursuing ladylike interests,” Snatcher finished. With the plates on the table, Payton draped her arms around him from the back where he sat and gave him a peck on the ear. “You know, love, tyrannical rulers get nothing but revolution and rebellion. A gentle king…” she kissed his neck and chest. “Well, he gets all sorts of things.” 

   Snatcher hummed. “But even gentle kings need limits and boundaries to avoid being walked over.” Payton shrugged and delicately stroked his face. “Very well,” she replied, looking over at Pepper. “I’m awfully sorry,” Pepper piped up. Payton ruffled her hair. “There, see? She apologized! Don’t worry, Pepper love. I’m sure Daddy just didn’t want you to get hurt.” “…or break anything,” Snatcher added, still giving Pepper a stern look.

…

    “1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3.”

    Winifred Portley-Rind watched her little feet form boxes with a slender woman in a tight bun and purple dress. “Remember to keep your head up and focused,” the latter instructed in a posh dialect. “Yes, Ma’am,” Winnie replied. On the side lines of the foyer, Lydia poured Lady Portley-Rind a cup of tea with a delicate porcelain teapot. Close by them was a violinist, playing to the steps of the teacher and her young pupil. “Oh, thank you, Lydia; lovely as always.” “My pleasure, Madam. Miss Portley-Rind is quite good, Your Ladyship,” the maid replied. “Oh thank you, she tries, doesn’t she?” her superior replied, good naturedly.

    Lady Portley-Rind could feel excitement within her, causing a slight giggle. Lydia noticed and smiled in return, for she knew what her excited giggles meant. “Lydia, my dear, would you please check to see if my subscription came in the mail today?” “Yes, Your Ladyship,” Lydia replied with a curtsy, and left through the front double doors. The young maid picked up her black skirt and stepped delicately down the steps until she reached the bottom where the top center of town sat. She glanced back to the Guild Mansion one last time before starting her way down to the Post Office. She tried not to waste anytime, because she knew that the sooner she came home with (hopefully) Lady Portley-Rind’s mail, the better. Before Milk Street turned into Curds Way, she made a left close to the docks where the proper Post Office of the town sat.

   “Yes, very good, Miss Portley-Rind!” the teacher told the girl as she twirled the child. “You’ll be ready for the Gala before the end of the day.” Her Ladyship clapped. “Bravo, darling!” Despite her fragile, sheltered nature, Her Ladyship took great pride in her daughter’s achievements. Anything she could do to bring out the nice young lady in her daughter made her smile, and as long as Winifred seemed alright, that just made it all the better.

   As Winifred practiced her curtsy for her teacher, Her Ladyship began to think of the next day. All the dancing, socializing, it all sounded exciting, but Winifred was only 3 years old, she remembered. Would Winnie be willing to dance from noon to 6PM, she thought. Probably not…but there was the socializing and all the cheeses to eat like finger foods. Surely Winnie would be fine. A collection of servants approached Her Ladyship with rolls of banners and vases of flowers.

   “Aah, lovely! The décor is here.” She pointed to various corners at which to hang the banners. “Hang these banners here, and put the vases there!” She asked, gesturing to both sides of the staircase, leading up to the Tasting Room, another pair of double doors in the foyer just for the White Hats. She could hear chattering from her husband, His Lordship, causing her to sigh. As Lydia returned with her fashion and jewelry magazines, she wrapped them around her arm and silently wished Lord Portley-Rind would join them all.

…

  Monty Pickles looked at the piece of paper and ink quill sitting on his bedtable in a tiny flat he shared with Mr. Trout. To cut ridiculous housing costs enforced by White Hat Sir Langsdale, the pair had decided to move in together and cooperate on rent and bills. Mr. Trout had left earlier to host his Book Club at the Cheesebridge Public Library, leaving the beanpole to stare at the parchment and really think. He looked again at his small picture of Molly and sighed. He looked over at his twin bed, which held another piece of paper, a grocery list. “How fun would it be…” he thought, “…if she took up an offer to go with me after the Gala? Wouldn’t be much…but it would be something.”

   He thought back to the night he’d met her. She had been coming home fro an acquaintance’s house, only to be approached by a boxtrolls. Mr. Pickles squared his shoulders at being the one to catch the troll, saving Molly’s life. Granted, he accidentally let it get away and his superior, Mr. Snatcher reminded him frequently afterwards, and though Molly seemed uncomfortable in Mr. Snatcher’s presence, the walk the brave man had with Molly on the way home, made him feel so drawn to her. Now every time he wrote to her, he felt as if he was walking on air. He just had to see her more often. He didn’t care about Snatcher’s warnings not to waste his time on an upper class woman that wouldn’t take him seriously.

   “Would she have exchanged letters with me if she didn’t?” Mr. Pickles asked himself, twiddling his thumbs. He gave one last sigh, sat up, pushed his chest forward and through trembling hands, began writing on the parchment on his bedtable. …

    Molly had a sprint in her step as she held a basket of produce and a parasol on one hand and a covered dress on a hangar in the other hand. Though she couldn’t put yawn and juggle her items, she had no issues. “Good afternoon,” she’d say to people she passed by. She would often glance at the gown in her hands until she made it back to her house, where she found a full mailbox to its side. “Ooh, mail!” She excitedly hurried up the steps to the box, set her parasol and basket aside and opened the mail box.

    Her squealing echoed in the ears of strangers on the other side of the street. “MILDRED! MILDRED! HE WROTE BACK!!” She grabbed all of her items and hurried into the house. “Madame, what is it?!” Mildred asked in shock. Molly placed all of her things on a nearby chair in her foyer and placed the letter in Mildred’s face. “Is that-” “ANOTHER RESPONSE FROM MR. PICKLES! Aw, what a gentleman!” She ripped open the letter as Mildred gathered her items.

   Madame Molly Monte Cristo,

     Thank you for the letter you sent me today about our promise. I promise as a good guy and gentleman not to forget. Please meet me at the Guild at half past 11 tomorrow morning please. My Boss, his daughter, and the other Red Hats will be at the Guild at 11 to produce a gift to the White Hats. We shouldn’t take long.

   Your humble friend,

     Mr. Monty Pickles

    “AUGH! Isn’t he just the most considerate man?! Informing me of his plans like that?” With Molly’s shrieking and Mildred trying to balance her items in her hands, the sudden squealing caused the maid to fall while Molly had her moment. She quickly noticed her maid on the floor and helped her up. “Oh you poor dear!” she replied, sounding considerate. “Quite alright, Madame,” Mildred grumbled. “Yes indeed, accidents happen. Really, Mildred, sometimes I think you work too hard.”

     “You don’t say.” …    “Never again, Annie my dear, never again!”

    While Pepper napped on Payton’s sofa on the top floor, Snatcher and Payton had retired to her office on the second floor to chat. With the man sitting in her usual chair and the woman sitting in his lap, they would peck each other amidst their talking.

   “I know. I’m not fond of those Brie smelling, white topped twits either. Every time they open their mouths, I actually want to see you rise up above them all like you promise. Big promises, Big Man,” she replied, pecking his thick neck to comfort him. Snatcher giggled darkly at her. “And as you know, I am a man of my word,” he explained to himself, gesturing elaborately to himself. “After those messes you shocked me with in that basement of yours, I hope so…jelly indeed…” she placed  her cheek on his chest, sensing his garlic scented breath, no thanks to lunch. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. I will not be ignored anymore. I’m quite glad you complied to be my…wife of sorts,” he looked over at her smooth slender hands and envisioned an opal and turquoise ring on one of her ring fingers. “With you here and Pepper as my-…our daughter as it were, your support is quite valuable, you know?” He kissed her hands. “Assist me at the Gala and you’ll get a fine reward. I reward good behavior after all.” Payton hummed and chuckled at him.

   “Archibald Penelope Snatcher, you’re a vile, evil, old man with a sick sense of humor. I respect that.” 

   The man smirked at her. She sat up to look at him in the eye. “But I will NOT be tricked, like some White Hat after a baby’s been stolen…if those boxtrolls are really as dangerous and treacherous as you say,” she smiled coyly. “I don’t like to be played with.”    “Join me at the Gala, and I’ll prove you wrong, Doc.”   Payton’s face flushed once more. Snatcher laughed at her, relishing the reasons why he loved picking on her. She put her finger to his forehead and lightly pushed it away. “You’re despicable. Just don’t overwork the kid, huh?”    “Bah, I don’t overwork her. I’m simply reminding her of the importance of being a person of value.” “When you showed me her etiquette lessons today, all you did was bark at her. ‘Too low of a curtsy’ this, ‘not a sweet enough tone’ that. You treat her like one of my passed students in my old afternoon classes.”    “But it’ll be worth it, my dear. I refuse to let my ancestors’ legacies fade in vain anymore than they have.”     “Aloysius Snatcher?” she asked. “Yes,” Snatcher replied. “One of the original founders of this small minded town. His partner, that Pemberton Portley-Rind was a fool to think that he didn’t need my family after gaining his so called ‘notoriety’. Our family was left behind though WE worked harder than Portley-Rind or anyone else ever did,” his tone had turned low and foreboding, threatening and deadly. Payton could sense it, but she felt no fear. “Leaving London for space may have been an understandable decision 200 years ago, but my family will NOT be forgotten. As long as you, Pepper, and myself work to attain that high level of respectability, people will finally listen to us, my darling. We will no longer be ignored.”      Payton allowed the silence to fill the room. She sighed with her head on his chest, scratching it with her fingers. We will no longer be ignored. She knew what that was like. To be ignored by the arrogant, the foolish, the abusive…

   ”You can’t pull off such a gown, Annie. You’re far too tall, and your face is too pointed.” “But ,Charles-” “No, no, it’s settled. You can’t go to the festival. It’s the day of and your gown just isn’t good enough, my flower. Now don’t you worry. I only say it out of love.” 

      She scratched his chest even more. No. Never again. “I’d better get to the library and get a book on dressmaking then. But first…” She slipped Snatcher’s red jacket sleeve off his shoulder.

    “Regard me.”

[bountyofbeads]

https://enewspaper.latimes.com/infinity/latimes/default.aspx?pubid=50435180-e58e-48b5-8e0c-236bf740270e

Why Paradise was doomed

Sierra town had prepared for much tamer wildfires

VEHICLES destroyed by the Camp fire sit at a used-car dealership in Paradise, Calif. In the aftermath of the blaze — 86 people dead, more than 13,900 homes destroyed — officials said the tragedy was unforeseen and unavoidable, an “unprecedented” monster of fire.

By Paige St. John, Joseph Serna and Rong-Gong Lin II | L. A. TIMES | Published December 30, 2018 | Posted December 30, 2018

PARADISE, Calif. — The fate of Paradise was cast long before a windstorm last month fueled the deadliest fire in California history.

The ridge settlement was doomed by its proximity to a crack in the mighty wall of the Sierra Nevada, a deep canyon that bellowed gale-force winds.

It was doomed by its maze of haphazard lanes and dead-end roads that paid no heed to escape.

It remained doomed because for all the preparations community leaders made, they practiced for tamer wildfires that frequently burned to the edge of town and stopped — not a wind-driven ember storm.

In the aftermath of the Camp fire — 86 dead, more than 13,900 homes destroyed and Paradise decimated — local and state officials said the tragedy was unforeseen and unavoidable, an “unprecedented” monster of fire.

In truth, the destruction was utterly predictable, and the community’s struggles to deal with the fire were the result of lessons forgotten and warnings ignored. The miracle of the tragedy, local officials now concede, is how many people escaped.

A Los Angeles Times investigation found that Paradise ignored repeated warnings of the risk its residents faced, crafted no plan to evacuate the area all at once, entrusted public alerts to a system prone to fire, and did not sound citywide orders to flee even as a hail of fire rained down.

Historical records show the Camp fire was typical of the catastrophic wind-driven fires responsible for California’s greatest wildfire losses.

A state fire planning document warned in 2005 that Paradise risked an ember firestorm akin to the one that ripped through Berkeley and Oakland 14 years earlier, killing more than two dozen people and destroying more than 2,000 homes. But Paradise officials framed risk in historical terms: In 50 years, no wildfire had crossed the Feather River.

The roads out of Paradise gridlocked within an hour of the first evacuation order, and began moving again only by a herculean effort of firefighters, police, bureaucrats and politicians who rushed to jammed intersections to try to unsnarl the knot, the benefit of having practiced for small fires.

In another three hours, hundreds of residents were trapped deep within town, cut off by flames. The town communications system was dead, as were cell towers. Police radios were crippled.

People jumped from cars and fled on foot. Hundreds sought refuge in parking lots and commercial buildings never intended to be temporary shelters in a firestorm. The remains of scores of residents were found inside the homes they never left.

The disaster occurred despite the fact that Paradise was proactive about preparing for fire, not just with drills and plans, but advertising its warning system, promoting “pack and go” preparations by residents, and even writing fire precautions into public construction projects. City leaders believed no other California community, except perhaps fire-dogged San Diego, was better prepared.

National transportation planners say the town’s destruction should set a new bar for emergency planners in wildfire areas, the way Hurricane Katrina reshaped evacuation planning on the Gulf Coast. But despite vows to create statewide evacuation standards after previous deadly wildfires, California has yet to take action and evacuation planning remains a local responsibility.

The question is more urgent than ever after two wildfire seasons with a staggering death toll: More than 40 killed by fires in wine country, more than 20 dead from the Montecito mudslides.

But experts fear the lessons will go unheeded.

“Memories are very short and people will soon forget how terrible Paradise was,” said Michael Robinson, director of the Center for Innovative Transportation Solutions at Old Dominion University, which helps communities plan for evacuations. “Or they’ll think, ‘It was terrible for Paradise, but it won’t happen to me.’ ”

An imperfect place

Paradise was built upon a system of volcanic ledges bisected by a fan of deep ravines emptying into the Sacramento Valley.

Developers started with what had been gold mine trails and then apple orchard roads to pave a street system that maximized buildable space the way blood vessels branch into capillaries. There are nearly 100 miles of private roads that dead-end on narrow overlooks and few connector streets.

For more than 38,000 people, access to the outside world came via four roads running south, down finger ridges and through forest canopy. After 2008, a forest road north was paved to provide escape for residents on the upper ridge above Paradise. On the day of the fire, the narrow winding passage jammed and was impassable.

Other historic mining towns in the Sierra Nevada foothills follow similar chaotic, organic layouts.

“The DNA of these towns is such that they’re … set up for disaster,” said Zeke Lunder, a Chico-based fire specialist and geographer whose company helps private landowners and public agencies conduct prescribed burns and prepare for inevitable wildfires.

The population boom for Paradise came in the 1960s and ’70s. Nine out of 10 homes were built before 1990 and most were more than three decades old. Tax assessor records show that only 285 homes were built on the Paradise ridge since new fire codes went into effect in 2008. A Times analysis of assessor records and fire surveys showed those newer structures had a 13% survival rate in the Camp fire, compared with 3% for older homes.

Paradise officials repeatedly told The Times they never envisioned a firestorm reaching the town.

But the 2005 state fire management plan for the ridge, developed in consultation with some of those same Paradise planners, warned that canyon winds posed a “serious threat” to Paradise.

The “greatest risk” was an “east wind” fire, the document said, “the same type of fire that impacted the Oakland Berkeley Hills during the Oct. 20, 1991, firestorm” that killed 25 people.

The plan also warned of “a high potential for large damaging fires and loss of life and property” in the Concow Basin beside Paradise. “Heavy fuel loads, steep terrain, poor access and light flashy fuels create severe fire hazards. The increased population in this area creates a high potential for catastrophic life and property loss.”

Subsequent fire plans created by Butte County and Paradise officials in conjunction with the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection use much less direct language. Those plans warn only of “extreme” fire, a step below catastrophic. Canyon wind fires are not mentioned at all.

The town’s vulnerability to fire was evident in 2008, first by the Humboldt fire that destroyed 87 homes west of Paradise, then a week later by a lightning storm that sparked dozens of fires to the east. Residents trying to flee were caught in massive traffic jams, flames burning on both sides of the road as they sat trapped in their cars. One person died of a heart attack.

The 2008 fires primed the land around Paradise to burn again, Lunder said, leaving both dead timber and open spaces for thick grass. It was as if the gun had been cocked.

A year later, the Butte County grand jury warned that the town faced disastrous consequences if it did not address the capacity limits of its roads. But Butte County supervisors and planners rejected the panel’s call for a halt to growth until the evacuation problem was met.

The largest paper in Chico ran an editorial concluding that sufficient evacuation roads could not be built, and that those who chose to live in Paradise needed to be aware of the risk they took and be prepared to leave early.

Five of the grand jurors, interviewed by The Times, said the improvements that were made — paving of the forest road and straightening of another route — were inadequate. They felt they had been ignored.

Among them was Walt Sipher, a Chico resident whose sister followed their parents to Paradise and remained on the ridge after they died. Sipher called his sister the morning of the Camp fire to warn her to leave. She told him she didn’t need to — it would be contained.

Judith Sipher was typical of those who perished that day: elderly, infirm with congestive heart failure and ill in bed with the flu. She had a car but seldom drove.

Walt tried driving into Paradise to fetch her, but hit blocked traffic and could not get in. He was summoned weeks later to the old Sears store in Chico to submit a saliva sample for the coroner, who was using DNA to identify the human remains found in his sister’s apartment.

“There are a lot of folks on that ridge, and so few escape routes,” Sipher said. “The possibility was always on everybody’s mind. … You hope it’s not going to be that bad, but it was.”

Narrowing the road

The same month the grand jury released its June 2009 report, Paradise was deep into plans to narrow its main evacuation route, Skyway.

Eight pedestrians had been injured by passing cars in the narrow business district, and heavy traffic gave the strip an “expressway” feel. The engineering firm that designed the project said it would reduce the number of vehicles that could pass through and advised against further “improvements,” such as a concrete median, citing the need to remember that the road was a fire evacuation route. More than half the ridge population lived above the strip.

Town recordings show a lone voice of concern at the 2014 council meeting giving final approval to the road narrowing.

“The main thing is fire danger,” said Mildred Eselin, 88. “If the council is searching for a way to diminish the population of Paradise, this would be the way to do it.”

City Fire Chief David Hawks pointed to Paradise’s plan to evacuate neighborhood by neighborhood rather than all at once.

“When everybody tries to evacuate at one time, that’s when the bottleneck creates,” Hawks said.

An updated plan

Staggered evacuations have been at the heart of Paradise evacuation plans since 1998. An updated plan approved in March 2015 codified decisions after the 2008 fires to convert Skyway into a one-way route during emergencies, doubling its capacity for evacuations. The town practiced its plan during a 2016 drill, part of regular mock disasters, and warned residents ahead of time so they could detour if need be.

Jim Broshears, the city’s emergency management director during the fire and its former longtime fire chief, estimated Paradise’s roads could support the combined evacuation of four zones in two hours — less than a fourth of the population. But city officials told The Times they had no idea how long it would take to empty the entire town. They said they never envisioned a need.

“We trained on what was most probable,” said town engineer Marc Mattox.

Planning for a firestorm would have been “akin to, ‘Is the L.A. Basin in its entirety planned for an earthquake that may devastate the L.A. Basin?’ ” Hawks said. “I don’t think that’s realistic.

“Obviously, it’s the largest or most devastating fire in California’s history,” he said. “It didn’t get that [way] because it was a normal event.”

Traffic simulation software housed at Old Dominion University and required by the Federal Emergency Management Agency for emergency plans around nuclear power plants was used by The Times to analyze Paradise’s roads. It showed the entire town would need eight hours for residents to leave under blue sky conditions, and more than five hours if Skyway were immediately converted to one-way traffic out.

Those estimates are without a rain of embers, burning obstacles, exploding propane tanks and heat blasts that melted tires. They do not account for roads that were blocked by falling power poles and abandoned cars the day of the fire or the two hours that it took police to establish one-way traffic on Skyway.

Paradise did not make use of such software. Told of The Times’ findings, Mattox said he would have liked to have had that information before Nov. 8. “Every public works planner, every emergency planner across the country should be aware about what those types of models would say for their community,” he said.

Broshears, the architect of most of the town’s emergency plan, and others acknowledge their plans were built around the sort of slower-moving wildfire Paradise had seen in the past.

“Let’s all just be honest,” Broshears said. “We didn’t have a plan that addressed a fire that would be everywhere. ... We had an evacuation plan built for a wildland fire. We had a hydrogen bomb. ... We were so overmatched.”

Failing to prepare for the larger disaster is hardly unique to Paradise, said former FEMA Administrator Craig Fugate.

Flaws in such planning are so common that Fugate describes them as the “deadly sins” of emergency management: Practicing drills that guarantee success; assuming that plans can be scaled up when a massive disaster strikes; relying on government systems to work under pressure; failing to plan how to protect vulnerable populations, such as the elderly; and mistrusting the public, which often leads to not warning the public early enough.

“We plan for what we’re capable of, and we hope it isn’t any worse,” he said.

Walt Scherer, who lost an earlier house to fire in the foothills of Loomis, where he was a city official, moved to Paradise in April and knew there was high fire risk. Again he lost his house.

He said he was stunned when he later heard Paradise’s mayor answer a public question about the snarled fire evacuation by stating that enough roads could never be built to evacuate the whole town at once.

“Anybody in their right mind would know that the whole town was a large oak forest, and everybody was at risk,” Scherer said. It was a “colossal failure,” he added, not to warn residents that the entire community couldn’t be evacuated at once. “You’ve got to recognize the risk.”

Raining embers

The Feather River Canyon, where the Camp fire began, was well-known for high winds. The so-called Jarbo Gap winds rocket down the canyon from the northeast every fall, caused by high-pressure air parked over the Great Basin seeking a path through the Sierra Nevada to fill the low-pressure voids on the California coast.

Meteorological records show 36 days since 2003 with gusts of 100 mph or more, and as high as 200 mph. Paradise sat in the path.

The morning the Camp fire ignited, the drying winds had been blowing for a week. According to weather equipment atop the fire station at Jarbo Gap, the probability that a single spark would ignite a fire big enough that fire crews would be needed to put it out was 76%. The station recorded gusts of up to 52 mph hours before the fire.

Rather than spreading as a flame front working its way through the forest, the Camp fire became wind-borne, lofting firebrands and embers that landed like rain. They fell on receptive fuels — trees and brush stressed by several years of drought, thick grass grown during heavy spring rains and now dry. The fuels also contained stands of gray pine, notorious for spouting embers.

The fire grew at a rapid clip — about 4,600 acres an hour, according to a Times analysis of fire maps and satellite imagery. Town and state fire officials called the speed of the fire unprecedented.

But the analysis shows other devastating California fires moved as fast, or faster.

In San Diego, the Cedar fire in 2003 kindled for hours until a Santa Ana wind rolled in at midnight. By 3 a.m., the wind-driven fire had jumped a river and a reservoir and ran nearly 17 miles. In the three-hour run, the fire spread an average of more than 19,600 acres an hour. Fifteen people were killed and more than 2,200 homes destroyed.

The Tubbs fire in 2017 matched the Camp in speed, roaring 12 miles in four hours into Santa Rosa, killing 22 people and eventually destroying more than 5,000 homes.

As the Camp fire blew into Paradise, the same high-pressure, low-pressure gradient set up a Santa Ana wind event that pushed the Woolsey fire into Malibu. Its pace in the first three hours was 21,290 acres an hour.

After the Camp fire was reported at 6:31 a.m., the wind carried embers to nearby Concow, where a mandatory evacuation order was demoted to “warning” status at 7:17 a.m.

Fifteen minutes later, embers were setting houses in Concow on fire and the evacuation order became mandatory. In short order, firefighters were trapped with residents who had no time to flee. They deployed their fire shelters. Some people jumped into a lake.

The bodies of at least six people were found outside or inside their cars.

No warnings

In Paradise, the first order to evacuate part of the city came at 7:57 a.m., and the first report of fire at the edge of town two minutes later. Immediately there were a dozen spot fires in town.

The ember storm hailed on most of the town at once. Within an hour, spot fires were spread halfway across Paradise, congealing into substantial fires in backyards and on houses. They primed Paradise for the big burn hours before the arrival of the main wildfire, creating an urban firestorm that moved horizontally house to house and left trees overhead untouched.

As planned, evacuation orders began zone by zone. Calls, texts and emails were sent via CodeRed, a private service that contracted for the city and county.

But interviews and records released by the city and county show the emergency warning system failed on many levels.

Only a fraction of Paradise residents were signed up for the service — city officials at first estimated there was no better than 30% enrollment, then later told The Times they did not have access to the subscription list.

Many of the emergency alerts failed to go through — CodeRed logs showed initial call failure rates of 40%, climbing to 60% as the fire progressed. Many subscribers told The Times they never received calls.

A large portion of Paradise received no evacuation order before the fire.

Documents released under the state’s Public Records Act show that three of Paradise’s 14 zones received only warnings — not mandatory orders to leave — the morning of the fire, and no notifications at all were sent to three others. The loss of fiber-optic lines and cell towers shut down the warnings entirely — Paradise police abandoned their dispatch center without ever sending a citywide order for other residents to flee.

Most residents said they relied on word of mouth, emergency vehicles driving down their streets with loudspeakers, or the sight of flames.

‘Get people moving!’

It took only an hour for Paradise to jam so thoroughly that a sheriff’s sergeant jumped on the radio, his voice urgent.

“Flames!” he shouted. “Get people moving now!”

The order to open all of Skyway to one-way traffic finally came, but what took 45 minutes during a mock drill required an hour under fire conditions. The road wasn’t fully converted to one-way traffic until shortly after 10 a.m. By then, dispatch recordings indicate that Skyway was choked down to Chico, and entire stretches began to be lost to fire.

Broshears said he was surprised by how quickly intersections became a choke point. Traffic backed up on secondary roads so solidly that motorists were trapped on dead-end streets. On one, Edgewood Lane, the bodies of five people were recovered in or just outside their cars. Firefighters were summoned to rescue burn victims at the end of another, after they attempted to flee down a horse trail.

Motorists for the most part did not panic, and stayed in their slowly moving cars as the wind-driven fire shifted around them, requiring detours and double-backs and turning the 16-mile exit into a five-hour escape. By 3 p.m., seven hours into the exodus, Paradise Mayor Jody Jones said, the evacuation was complete.

But at the north end of town, firefighters radioed reports of civilians leaving their cars and running on foot, leaving behind a blockade of abandoned vehicles. Hundreds of residents had to ride out the fire until heavy equipment arrived to bulldoze a path for buses to carry them out.

Continued on website

[eddiejpoplar]

2019 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 Meets 1990 Corvette ZR1

The first time Teddy Roosevelt’s words, “Speak softly and carry a big stick,” occurred to me as I reviewed a car was while driving a 2009 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1. Now, after testing the new 2019 ZR1 on a couple of racetracks within the span of a few days, “Speak rudely and wield a really fat club” might be more appropriate.

After my first laps at the limit around Road Atlanta in the latest ZR1, the words of General Motors executive VP of global product development Mark Reuss, who was on hand, rang true. “Things haven’t changed at GM as far as stretching the technology envelope,” he said. “ZR1 has to set the upper limits of performance and be a technological beacon in chassis, design, and materials.”

Oh, and don’t forget the engine. Corvette engineers were not content with the kidney-flattening supercharged LT4 V-8 that kicks out 650 hp and 650 lb-ft of torque in the Z06. The new ZR1 has a supercharged LT5 V-8 spitting 755 horsepower at 6,300 rpm and 715 lb-ft at 4,400 rpm. Certified top speed is 212.49 mph, which came from a two-way average (215 mph/210 mph). Chevy restricts the ZR1 to a top speed of 215 mph to be within tire-safety standards. Base price for the coupe is $122,095 when you add the $2,100 gas guzzler tax. The convertible starts at $126,095. Hey, you only need one kidney, anyway.

Coming into turn 1, the car was beyond 150 mph,  still accelerating hard as I entered the brake zone. I pushed the stop pedal hard, and the ZR1 dutifully spit my eyeballs out of my head.

The ZR1 is a heavily track-focused performance car, but I did drive it for several hours on the road. Corvette critics will note nothing particularly different about the ZR1’s interior or controls compared to other C7-generation models, which is no surprise because this is the end of the platform’s life cycle. However, changes to the suspension and magnetic-ride shocks are noteworthy; they provide better ride quality and compliance over road imperfections, noticeable improvements compared to a Z06. That said, new C7 Z06s now receive the same shock programming as the ZR1.

Red and yellow cars with optional matching interior stitching and the manual transmission also get color-synchronized rev-match paddles.

In today’s domestic automaker landscape, it would be reasonable to wonder if there was any pushback from within GM about the merits of building a 755-hp street missile. But apparently not on Reuss’ watch. “The Corvette has always been about attainable high performance,” he said. “As far as the 755 horsepower, approval of something like the ZR1 starts and stops with me.”

Chevrolet says the ZR1 (with the $1,725 eight-speed automatic transmission) runs 0-60 mph in 2.85 seconds and from 0 to 100 mph in just 6.0 seconds. Launching the car from a standstill is not easy; you or the traction control will work overtime to keep wheelspin at bay all the way to 60, which doesn’t do much to help the time.

In other matters, the car has a half-inch-wider front rim size compared to the Z06, which helps the front end work better when combined with the 60 percent increase in overall downforce. Michelin Pilot Sport Cup 2 rubber is on duty, with 285/30-R19s up front and 335/25-R20s in the rear. The downforce improvement (the car produces a total of 950 pounds at top speed with the $2,995 ZTK/high-wing option) also comes with no increase in drag versus the Z06, Chevy says—a nice trick if you can do it.

“The Z06 cooling concerns on-track have been dealt with in the ZR1.”

According to Corvette executive chief engineer Tadge Juechter, in terms of performance goals for the new car, “The ZR1 has always meant top performance, no limits. When we ask the customer, ‘How much power do you want?’ they say, ‘How much can you give me?’ There were no hard requirements like a power number. We tried to extend all aspects as much as possible.” To his point about the definition of the ZR1, the model’s history was front and center in several of the engineering presentations held during the media launch.

“ZR-1” was originally a GM Regular Production Option code identifying a special performance package from 1970 to ’72; it was not originally recognized as a car-model identifier. Meanwhile, of course, many people refer to the 1990 model as the first Corvette ZR-1—The King of the Hill. Initial road tests of the latter created quite a stir almost 30 years ago, with performance far superior to other Corvettes from the late ’70s and early ’80s given that many of them were strangled by emissions regulations. Magazines even pitted the 1990 ZR-1 (375 hp at 6,200 rpm, 370 lb-ft at 4,500 rpm) head-to-head against machines such as the mighty Porsche 911 Turbo—and nobody laughed.

In 1991 the 911 Turbo’s base price was around $100,000. (There was no 1990 model-year Turbo.) The ZR-1 was a comparative bargain at $58,994, with the ZR-1 package accounting for $27,015 of that. People were happy to pay for the new capability, ripping from 0 to 60 mph in less than 5 seconds, which was supercar performance for the era. Credit was given to GM for working with the Mercury Marine Company and Lotus Engineering to help expand the technology envelope, creating the double-overhead-cam LT5 engine and a legend in the process. Lotus also helped with the car’s braking, steering, and adjustable ride control.

In 1990 I raced for the Morrison Motorsports team, the same outfit that set world speed endurance records with a stock 1990 ZR-1 and also campaigned two mostly stock ZR-1s in the 1991 Rolex 24 at Daytona and 12 Hours of Sebring. I drove one of those ZR-1s in both of those races, a car that is now in the Smithsonian collection in Washington, D.C. I also drove a ZR-1 street car back in 1990, and vivid memories are the noise, brutal acceleration, grip level, and stability. The whole package was astonishing for a production car, and the experience of driving that “red rocket” all those years ago is forever welded into my brain.

Now in 2018 I find myself sitting in another red 1990 ZR-1 at the Motorsports Park racetrack in Bowling Green, Kentucky. This pristine example, with just more than 6,000 miles on the odometer, was lent to us by the National Corvette Museum, which owns the track. Leaving pit lane in the old beast, I mused how much fun a 10/10ths hot lap might be. But then I imagined the look on museum curator Derek Moore’s face if his baby came back with chunks of rubber missing. So I took it easy, and the car ran flawlessly while little bursts of acceleration sparked memories of the first time I felt the LT5’s smooth, urgent power.

Then, once again, it was time to drive the 2019 ZR1 on a racetrack. At Road Atlanta three days earlier, the temperature reached almost 90 degrees. Although the car went ridiculously fast, lap records weren’t in the cards thanks to the heat sliming up the tarmac. But the temperature at Motorsports Park was now just 60 degrees.

The ZR1 did not disappoint. Coming into Turn 1, the car was beyond 150 mph, still accelerating hard as I entered the brake zone. I pushed the stop pedal hard, and the ZR1 dutifully spit my eyeballs out of my head. I recently tested a very capable GT4 race car and was impressed by its brakes; the ZR1 was equally impressive. The tires, aerodynamic downforce, and all-new Brembo carbon-ceramic stoppers combined for more than 1.7 g’s worth of deceleration (serious race car good). I made a mental note not to use the brakes this hard with a cement truck behind me out on public roads.

Over the course of several days, I tried both the automatic and seven-speed manual versions of the car; if I were to buy the ZR1 for track days, I would without question buy the automatic. Not only because it shifts quicker but also because I only weigh about 155 pounds; despite using the seat belt locking mechanism, I found myself moving around too much in the seat while on maximum attack due to the forces the ZR1 exerted all the way around Motorsports Park’s 24-turn, 3.2-mile track. In the automatic I can keep both hands on the wheel for a little extra support. It’s worth noting I had no issues at all with the seat holding me solid with normal or spirited street driving.

Corvette interiors have taken much criticism for years, but there’s something appealing about the old ZR-1’s KITT-style controls.

Meanwhile, the car’s E-ticket handling jolted Juechter’s words back to the top of my mind. “The ZR1 technology we’re most proud of is the front underwing and general aero of the car,” he said. “Also, the trackability. It is very easy to drop the suspension and adjust the rear wing, and off you go.” He also addressed the disappointment some people had with the Z06’s lack of cooling during track use: “The Z06 cooling concerns on-track have been dealt with in the ZR1.” To test his claim, I did a long run of almost 25 minutes at Road Atlanta in the blazing heat. My laps, at fast race pace, were all between 1 minute, 30.4 seconds and 1:31.7. Those were quite quick times for the conditions, and the car exhibited very little drop-off in performance.

You probably have read hyperbole, and then some, about road cars that sound unreal. In this case, though, I really have never heard a production car sound this much like a race car in both tone and volume. There is some engineering trickery in one of the mufflers, featuring a spring-loaded valve that burps open or stays closed based on driving style. Bring your earplugs, Mildred.

“Why on earth would anyone want a self-driving Corvette? That would be like having a self-kissing girlfriend.”

At the end of the day, I finally had time to try to rip off a really fast lap in a car equipped with the automatic. At the limit the ZR1 is very balanced; I could easily control both front and rear tire slide with throttle and steering quickly enough to maintain good momentum, never allowing the slide to reach a point where I lost time. When the lap time crackled through the track radio, it blared a new official lap record for a production car on OE tires for the Motorsports Park racetrack: 2:05.59. This time is several seconds quicker than any other production car has managed on the circuit since it opened in 2013.

Perhaps setting a new MSP benchmark was an appropriate way to send the C7 Corvette into the sunset, potentially truly marking the end of an era. A mid-engine Corvette is finally on the horizon, after all, though Reuss and Juechter predictably plead the fifth on any inquiries into the matter. Other creeping—sprinting?—trends such as autonomy could also play a role in the car’s future. “Who wants to sit in traffic for three hours paying attention to stopping and starting if the car can do it for them?” Reuss asked. But Juechter then followed mischievously with a quote from a Corvette customer: “Why on earth would anyone want a self-driving Corvette? That would be like having a self-kissing girlfriend.”

For now and the foreseeable future, then, custodians of performance like Reuss and Juechter plan to keep on facilitating street-legal rockets like the new ZR1. The first time an owner experiences the brutal shove in the back, they’re pretty much guaranteed to think they got a bargain. Teddy Roosevelt would be blown away.

2019 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 Specifications

ON SALE Now PRICE $122,095 (base) ENGINE 6.2L supercharged OHV 16-valve V-8/755 hp @ 6,300 rpm, 715 lb-ft @ 4,400 rpm TRANSMISSION 7-speed manual, 8-speed automatic LAYOUT 2-door, 2-passenger, front-engine, RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 15/22 mpg (city/hwy) L x W x H 179.8 x 77.4 x 48.5 in WHEELBASE 106.7 in WEIGHT 3,560 lb 0-60 MPH 2.85 sec (with automatic) TOP SPEED 215 mph (electronically limited)

The post 2019 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 Meets 1990 Corvette ZR1 appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

from Performance Junk Blogger 6 https://ift.tt/2HZhV3G via IFTTT

[jesusvasser]

2019 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 Meets 1990 Corvette ZR1

The first time Teddy Roosevelt’s words, “Speak softly and carry a big stick,” occurred to me as I reviewed a car was while driving a 2009 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1. Now, after testing the new 2019 ZR1 on a couple of racetracks within the span of a few days, “Speak rudely and wield a really fat club” might be more appropriate.

After my first laps at the limit around Road Atlanta in the latest ZR1, the words of General Motors executive VP of global product development Mark Reuss, who was on hand, rang true. “Things haven’t changed at GM as far as stretching the technology envelope,” he said. “ZR1 has to set the upper limits of performance and be a technological beacon in chassis, design, and materials.”

Oh, and don’t forget the engine. Corvette engineers were not content with the kidney-flattening supercharged LT4 V-8 that kicks out 650 hp and 650 lb-ft of torque in the Z06. The new ZR1 has a supercharged LT5 V-8 spitting 755 horsepower at 6,300 rpm and 715 lb-ft at 4,400 rpm. Certified top speed is 212.49 mph, which came from a two-way average (215 mph/210 mph). Chevy restricts the ZR1 to a top speed of 215 mph to be within tire-safety standards. Base price for the coupe is $122,095 when you add the $2,100 gas guzzler tax. The convertible starts at $126,095. Hey, you only need one kidney, anyway.

Coming into turn 1, the car was beyond 150 mph,  still accelerating hard as I entered the brake zone. I pushed the stop pedal hard, and the ZR1 dutifully spit my eyeballs out of my head.

The ZR1 is a heavily track-focused performance car, but I did drive it for several hours on the road. Corvette critics will note nothing particularly different about the ZR1’s interior or controls compared to other C7-generation models, which is no surprise because this is the end of the platform’s life cycle. However, changes to the suspension and magnetic-ride shocks are noteworthy; they provide better ride quality and compliance over road imperfections, noticeable improvements compared to a Z06. That said, new C7 Z06s now receive the same shock programming as the ZR1.

Red and yellow cars with optional matching interior stitching and the manual transmission also get color-synchronized rev-match paddles.

In today’s domestic automaker landscape, it would be reasonable to wonder if there was any pushback from within GM about the merits of building a 755-hp street missile. But apparently not on Reuss’ watch. “The Corvette has always been about attainable high performance,” he said. “As far as the 755 horsepower, approval of something like the ZR1 starts and stops with me.”

Chevrolet says the ZR1 (with the $1,725 eight-speed automatic transmission) runs 0-60 mph in 2.85 seconds and from 0 to 100 mph in just 6.0 seconds. Launching the car from a standstill is not easy; you or the traction control will work overtime to keep wheelspin at bay all the way to 60, which doesn’t do much to help the time.

In other matters, the car has a half-inch-wider front rim size compared to the Z06, which helps the front end work better when combined with the 60 percent increase in overall downforce. Michelin Pilot Sport Cup 2 rubber is on duty, with 285/30-R19s up front and 335/25-R20s in the rear. The downforce improvement (the car produces a total of 950 pounds at top speed with the $2,995 ZTK/high-wing option) also comes with no increase in drag versus the Z06, Chevy says—a nice trick if you can do it.

“The Z06 cooling concerns on-track have been dealt with in the ZR1.”

According to Corvette executive chief engineer Tadge Juechter, in terms of performance goals for the new car, “The ZR1 has always meant top performance, no limits. When we ask the customer, ‘How much power do you want?’ they say, ‘How much can you give me?’ There were no hard requirements like a power number. We tried to extend all aspects as much as possible.” To his point about the definition of the ZR1, the model’s history was front and center in several of the engineering presentations held during the media launch.

“ZR-1” was originally a GM Regular Production Option code identifying a special performance package from 1970 to ’72; it was not originally recognized as a car-model identifier. Meanwhile, of course, many people refer to the 1990 model as the first Corvette ZR-1—The King of the Hill. Initial road tests of the latter created quite a stir almost 30 years ago, with performance far superior to other Corvettes from the late ’70s and early ’80s given that many of them were strangled by emissions regulations. Magazines even pitted the 1990 ZR-1 (375 hp at 6,200 rpm, 370 lb-ft at 4,500 rpm) head-to-head against machines such as the mighty Porsche 911 Turbo—and nobody laughed.

In 1991 the 911 Turbo’s base price was around $100,000. (There was no 1990 model-year Turbo.) The ZR-1 was a comparative bargain at $58,994, with the ZR-1 package accounting for $27,015 of that. People were happy to pay for the new capability, ripping from 0 to 60 mph in less than 5 seconds, which was supercar performance for the era. Credit was given to GM for working with the Mercury Marine Company and Lotus Engineering to help expand the technology envelope, creating the double-overhead-cam LT5 engine and a legend in the process. Lotus also helped with the car’s braking, steering, and adjustable ride control.

In 1990 I raced for the Morrison Motorsports team, the same outfit that set world speed endurance records with a stock 1990 ZR-1 and also campaigned two mostly stock ZR-1s in the 1991 Rolex 24 at Daytona and 12 Hours of Sebring. I drove one of those ZR-1s in both of those races, a car that is now in the Smithsonian collection in Washington, D.C. I also drove a ZR-1 street car back in 1990, and vivid memories are the noise, brutal acceleration, grip level, and stability. The whole package was astonishing for a production car, and the experience of driving that “red rocket” all those years ago is forever welded into my brain.

Now in 2018 I find myself sitting in another red 1990 ZR-1 at the Motorsports Park racetrack in Bowling Green, Kentucky. This pristine example, with just more than 6,000 miles on the odometer, was lent to us by the National Corvette Museum, which owns the track. Leaving pit lane in the old beast, I mused how much fun a 10/10ths hot lap might be. But then I imagined the look on museum curator Derek Moore’s face if his baby came back with chunks of rubber missing. So I took it easy, and the car ran flawlessly while little bursts of acceleration sparked memories of the first time I felt the LT5’s smooth, urgent power.

Then, once again, it was time to drive the 2019 ZR1 on a racetrack. At Road Atlanta three days earlier, the temperature reached almost 90 degrees. Although the car went ridiculously fast, lap records weren’t in the cards thanks to the heat sliming up the tarmac. But the temperature at Motorsports Park was now just 60 degrees.

The ZR1 did not disappoint. Coming into Turn 1, the car was beyond 150 mph, still accelerating hard as I entered the brake zone. I pushed the stop pedal hard, and the ZR1 dutifully spit my eyeballs out of my head. I recently tested a very capable GT4 race car and was impressed by its brakes; the ZR1 was equally impressive. The tires, aerodynamic downforce, and all-new Brembo carbon-ceramic stoppers combined for more than 1.7 g’s worth of deceleration (serious race car good). I made a mental note not to use the brakes this hard with a cement truck behind me out on public roads.

Over the course of several days, I tried both the automatic and seven-speed manual versions of the car; if I were to buy the ZR1 for track days, I would without question buy the automatic. Not only because it shifts quicker but also because I only weigh about 155 pounds; despite using the seat belt locking mechanism, I found myself moving around too much in the seat while on maximum attack due to the forces the ZR1 exerted all the way around Motorsports Park’s 24-turn, 3.2-mile track. In the automatic I can keep both hands on the wheel for a little extra support. It’s worth noting I had no issues at all with the seat holding me solid with normal or spirited street driving.

Corvette interiors have taken much criticism for years, but there’s something appealing about the old ZR-1’s KITT-style controls.

Meanwhile, the car’s E-ticket handling jolted Juechter’s words back to the top of my mind. “The ZR1 technology we’re most proud of is the front underwing and general aero of the car,” he said. “Also, the trackability. It is very easy to drop the suspension and adjust the rear wing, and off you go.” He also addressed the disappointment some people had with the Z06’s lack of cooling during track use: “The Z06 cooling concerns on-track have been dealt with in the ZR1.” To test his claim, I did a long run of almost 25 minutes at Road Atlanta in the blazing heat. My laps, at fast race pace, were all between 1 minute, 30.4 seconds and 1:31.7. Those were quite quick times for the conditions, and the car exhibited very little drop-off in performance.

You probably have read hyperbole, and then some, about road cars that sound unreal. In this case, though, I really have never heard a production car sound this much like a race car in both tone and volume. There is some engineering trickery in one of the mufflers, featuring a spring-loaded valve that burps open or stays closed based on driving style. Bring your earplugs, Mildred.

“Why on earth would anyone want a self-driving Corvette? That would be like having a self-kissing girlfriend.”

At the end of the day, I finally had time to try to rip off a really fast lap in a car equipped with the automatic. At the limit the ZR1 is very balanced; I could easily control both front and rear tire slide with throttle and steering quickly enough to maintain good momentum, never allowing the slide to reach a point where I lost time. When the lap time crackled through the track radio, it blared a new official lap record for a production car on OE tires for the Motorsports Park racetrack: 2:05.59. This time is several seconds quicker than any other production car has managed on the circuit since it opened in 2013.

Perhaps setting a new MSP benchmark was an appropriate way to send the C7 Corvette into the sunset, potentially truly marking the end of an era. A mid-engine Corvette is finally on the horizon, after all, though Reuss and Juechter predictably plead the fifth on any inquiries into the matter. Other creeping—sprinting?—trends such as autonomy could also play a role in the car’s future. “Who wants to sit in traffic for three hours paying attention to stopping and starting if the car can do it for them?” Reuss asked. But Juechter then followed mischievously with a quote from a Corvette customer: “Why on earth would anyone want a self-driving Corvette? That would be like having a self-kissing girlfriend.”

For now and the foreseeable future, then, custodians of performance like Reuss and Juechter plan to keep on facilitating street-legal rockets like the new ZR1. The first time an owner experiences the brutal shove in the back, they’re pretty much guaranteed to think they got a bargain. Teddy Roosevelt would be blown away.

2019 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 Specifications

ON SALE Now PRICE $122,095 (base) ENGINE 6.2L supercharged OHV 16-valve V-8/755 hp @ 6,300 rpm, 715 lb-ft @ 4,400 rpm TRANSMISSION 7-speed manual, 8-speed automatic LAYOUT 2-door, 2-passenger, front-engine, RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 15/22 mpg (city/hwy) L x W x H 179.8 x 77.4 x 48.5 in WHEELBASE 106.7 in WEIGHT 3,560 lb 0-60 MPH 2.85 sec (with automatic) TOP SPEED 215 mph (electronically limited)

The post 2019 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 Meets 1990 Corvette ZR1 appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

from Performance Junk WP Feed 4 https://ift.tt/2HZhV3G via IFTTT

[jonathanbelloblog]

2019 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 Meets 1990 Corvette ZR1

The first time Teddy Roosevelt’s words, “Speak softly and carry a big stick,” occurred to me as I reviewed a car was while driving a 2009 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1. Now, after testing the new 2019 ZR1 on a couple of racetracks within the span of a few days, “Speak rudely and wield a really fat club” might be more appropriate.

After my first laps at the limit around Road Atlanta in the latest ZR1, the words of General Motors executive VP of global product development Mark Reuss, who was on hand, rang true. “Things haven’t changed at GM as far as stretching the technology envelope,” he said. “ZR1 has to set the upper limits of performance and be a technological beacon in chassis, design, and materials.”

Oh, and don’t forget the engine. Corvette engineers were not content with the kidney-flattening supercharged LT4 V-8 that kicks out 650 hp and 650 lb-ft of torque in the Z06. The new ZR1 has a supercharged LT5 V-8 spitting 755 horsepower at 6,300 rpm and 715 lb-ft at 4,400 rpm. Certified top speed is 212.49 mph, which came from a two-way average (215 mph/210 mph). Chevy restricts the ZR1 to a top speed of 215 mph to be within tire-safety standards. Base price for the coupe is $122,095 when you add the $2,100 gas guzzler tax. The convertible starts at $126,095. Hey, you only need one kidney, anyway.

Coming into turn 1, the car was beyond 150 mph,  still accelerating hard as I entered the brake zone. I pushed the stop pedal hard, and the ZR1 dutifully spit my eyeballs out of my head.

The ZR1 is a heavily track-focused performance car, but I did drive it for several hours on the road. Corvette critics will note nothing particularly different about the ZR1’s interior or controls compared to other C7-generation models, which is no surprise because this is the end of the platform’s life cycle. However, changes to the suspension and magnetic-ride shocks are noteworthy; they provide better ride quality and compliance over road imperfections, noticeable improvements compared to a Z06. That said, new C7 Z06s now receive the same shock programming as the ZR1.

Red and yellow cars with optional matching interior stitching and the manual transmission also get color-synchronized rev-match paddles.

In today’s domestic automaker landscape, it would be reasonable to wonder if there was any pushback from within GM about the merits of building a 755-hp street missile. But apparently not on Reuss’ watch. “The Corvette has always been about attainable high performance,” he said. “As far as the 755 horsepower, approval of something like the ZR1 starts and stops with me.”

Chevrolet says the ZR1 (with the $1,725 eight-speed automatic transmission) runs 0-60 mph in 2.85 seconds and from 0 to 100 mph in just 6.0 seconds. Launching the car from a standstill is not easy; you or the traction control will work overtime to keep wheelspin at bay all the way to 60, which doesn’t do much to help the time.

In other matters, the car has a half-inch-wider front rim size compared to the Z06, which helps the front end work better when combined with the 60 percent increase in overall downforce. Michelin Pilot Sport Cup 2 rubber is on duty, with 285/30-R19s up front and 335/25-R20s in the rear. The downforce improvement (the car produces a total of 950 pounds at top speed with the $2,995 ZTK/high-wing option) also comes with no increase in drag versus the Z06, Chevy says—a nice trick if you can do it.

“The Z06 cooling concerns on-track have been dealt with in the ZR1.”

According to Corvette executive chief engineer Tadge Juechter, in terms of performance goals for the new car, “The ZR1 has always meant top performance, no limits. When we ask the customer, ‘How much power do you want?’ they say, ‘How much can you give me?’ There were no hard requirements like a power number. We tried to extend all aspects as much as possible.” To his point about the definition of the ZR1, the model’s history was front and center in several of the engineering presentations held during the media launch.

“ZR-1” was originally a GM Regular Production Option code identifying a special performance package from 1970 to ’72; it was not originally recognized as a car-model identifier. Meanwhile, of course, many people refer to the 1990 model as the first Corvette ZR-1—The King of the Hill. Initial road tests of the latter created quite a stir almost 30 years ago, with performance far superior to other Corvettes from the late ’70s and early ’80s given that many of them were strangled by emissions regulations. Magazines even pitted the 1990 ZR-1 (375 hp at 6,200 rpm, 370 lb-ft at 4,500 rpm) head-to-head against machines such as the mighty Porsche 911 Turbo—and nobody laughed.

In 1991 the 911 Turbo’s base price was around $100,000. (There was no 1990 model-year Turbo.) The ZR-1 was a comparative bargain at $58,994, with the ZR-1 package accounting for $27,015 of that. People were happy to pay for the new capability, ripping from 0 to 60 mph in less than 5 seconds, which was supercar performance for the era. Credit was given to GM for working with the Mercury Marine Company and Lotus Engineering to help expand the technology envelope, creating the double-overhead-cam LT5 engine and a legend in the process. Lotus also helped with the car’s braking, steering, and adjustable ride control.

In 1990 I raced for the Morrison Motorsports team, the same outfit that set world speed endurance records with a stock 1990 ZR-1 and also campaigned two mostly stock ZR-1s in the 1991 Rolex 24 at Daytona and 12 Hours of Sebring. I drove one of those ZR-1s in both of those races, a car that is now in the Smithsonian collection in Washington, D.C. I also drove a ZR-1 street car back in 1990, and vivid memories are the noise, brutal acceleration, grip level, and stability. The whole package was astonishing for a production car, and the experience of driving that “red rocket” all those years ago is forever welded into my brain.

Now in 2018 I find myself sitting in another red 1990 ZR-1 at the Motorsports Park racetrack in Bowling Green, Kentucky. This pristine example, with just more than 6,000 miles on the odometer, was lent to us by the National Corvette Museum, which owns the track. Leaving pit lane in the old beast, I mused how much fun a 10/10ths hot lap might be. But then I imagined the look on museum curator Derek Moore’s face if his baby came back with chunks of rubber missing. So I took it easy, and the car ran flawlessly while little bursts of acceleration sparked memories of the first time I felt the LT5’s smooth, urgent power.

Then, once again, it was time to drive the 2019 ZR1 on a racetrack. At Road Atlanta three days earlier, the temperature reached almost 90 degrees. Although the car went ridiculously fast, lap records weren’t in the cards thanks to the heat sliming up the tarmac. But the temperature at Motorsports Park was now just 60 degrees.

The ZR1 did not disappoint. Coming into Turn 1, the car was beyond 150 mph, still accelerating hard as I entered the brake zone. I pushed the stop pedal hard, and the ZR1 dutifully spit my eyeballs out of my head. I recently tested a very capable GT4 race car and was impressed by its brakes; the ZR1 was equally impressive. The tires, aerodynamic downforce, and all-new Brembo carbon-ceramic stoppers combined for more than 1.7 g’s worth of deceleration (serious race car good). I made a mental note not to use the brakes this hard with a cement truck behind me out on public roads.

Over the course of several days, I tried both the automatic and seven-speed manual versions of the car; if I were to buy the ZR1 for track days, I would without question buy the automatic. Not only because it shifts quicker but also because I only weigh about 155 pounds; despite using the seat belt locking mechanism, I found myself moving around too much in the seat while on maximum attack due to the forces the ZR1 exerted all the way around Motorsports Park’s 24-turn, 3.2-mile track. In the automatic I can keep both hands on the wheel for a little extra support. It’s worth noting I had no issues at all with the seat holding me solid with normal or spirited street driving.

Corvette interiors have taken much criticism for years, but there’s something appealing about the old ZR-1’s KITT-style controls.

Meanwhile, the car’s E-ticket handling jolted Juechter’s words back to the top of my mind. “The ZR1 technology we’re most proud of is the front underwing and general aero of the car,” he said. “Also, the trackability. It is very easy to drop the suspension and adjust the rear wing, and off you go.” He also addressed the disappointment some people had with the Z06’s lack of cooling during track use: “The Z06 cooling concerns on-track have been dealt with in the ZR1.” To test his claim, I did a long run of almost 25 minutes at Road Atlanta in the blazing heat. My laps, at fast race pace, were all between 1 minute, 30.4 seconds and 1:31.7. Those were quite quick times for the conditions, and the car exhibited very little drop-off in performance.

You probably have read hyperbole, and then some, about road cars that sound unreal. In this case, though, I really have never heard a production car sound this much like a race car in both tone and volume. There is some engineering trickery in one of the mufflers, featuring a spring-loaded valve that burps open or stays closed based on driving style. Bring your earplugs, Mildred.

“Why on earth would anyone want a self-driving Corvette? That would be like having a self-kissing girlfriend.”

At the end of the day, I finally had time to try to rip off a really fast lap in a car equipped with the automatic. At the limit the ZR1 is very balanced; I could easily control both front and rear tire slide with throttle and steering quickly enough to maintain good momentum, never allowing the slide to reach a point where I lost time. When the lap time crackled through the track radio, it blared a new official lap record for a production car on OE tires for the Motorsports Park racetrack: 2:05.59. This time is several seconds quicker than any other production car has managed on the circuit since it opened in 2013.

Perhaps setting a new MSP benchmark was an appropriate way to send the C7 Corvette into the sunset, potentially truly marking the end of an era. A mid-engine Corvette is finally on the horizon, after all, though Reuss and Juechter predictably plead the fifth on any inquiries into the matter. Other creeping—sprinting?—trends such as autonomy could also play a role in the car’s future. “Who wants to sit in traffic for three hours paying attention to stopping and starting if the car can do it for them?” Reuss asked. But Juechter then followed mischievously with a quote from a Corvette customer: “Why on earth would anyone want a self-driving Corvette? That would be like having a self-kissing girlfriend.”

For now and the foreseeable future, then, custodians of performance like Reuss and Juechter plan to keep on facilitating street-legal rockets like the new ZR1. The first time an owner experiences the brutal shove in the back, they’re pretty much guaranteed to think they got a bargain. Teddy Roosevelt would be blown away.

2019 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 Specifications

ON SALE Now PRICE $122,095 (base) ENGINE 6.2L supercharged OHV 16-valve V-8/755 hp @ 6,300 rpm, 715 lb-ft @ 4,400 rpm TRANSMISSION 7-speed manual, 8-speed automatic LAYOUT 2-door, 2-passenger, front-engine, RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 15/22 mpg (city/hwy) L x W x H 179.8 x 77.4 x 48.5 in WHEELBASE 106.7 in WEIGHT 3,560 lb 0-60 MPH 2.85 sec (with automatic) TOP SPEED 215 mph (electronically limited)

The post 2019 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 Meets 1990 Corvette ZR1 appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

from Performance Junk Blogger Feed 4 https://ift.tt/2JYusqh via IFTTT

[amcngmuses]

CHARACTER:  Abner Rose Ribeiro, mid 20s, librarian, mute STORY: ----- FOUND AT: rcsepress

WARNINGS: abuse ( physical mentioned & verbal implied )

             Most seven-year-olds don’t dream of being a librarian when they’re older.  Abner, however, has wanted nothing more.  He had always found the library to be a place of mystery, he had always dreamed of reading every book on the shelves, and one summer he had all the time needed to uncover its secrets.

             Instead of finding himself a babysitter or nanny for the summer, as most parents would do, Abner’s father would drop the boy off at the local library, and he wouldn’t return to pick him up until well after it closed.  Abner always assumed his father was busy with work and never questioned the strange behavior. It wasn’t until he was much older that he realized his father would leave him there so he could go out drinking or worse.

             Abner spent those sweltering summer days inside the cool library sprawled out in a never-ventured aisle with stacks of books surrounding him.  He nearly finished every book in the children’s section that summer; in fact it would take him about three weeks into the fall to accomplish that feat.  As he was reading through the children-geared chapter books he also began a curious, cursory glance into the young adults’ section.  By the time he was nine he had both sections neatly tucked under his belt.

             Other patrons of the library grew to know Abner by name. Whenever they needed help to find a book the boy was always around a corner to point them in the right direction. A small database of the library began to root itself in his mind, and the librarians -all older, matronly women—jokingly started to refer to him as the Abbi Decimal System.  The librarians pitied the poor boy who spent his days alone exploring dust-ridden worlds, but they never pressed the matter with his father. All were of the mindset that it was a family affair and none of their business.  They often “paid” the boy for his help around the library.  They’d give him some pocket change so he could buy a drink or a snack from the vending machines in the library’s lobby.

             The boy was never much of a conversationalist, but in the four years he lived -spending most of his childhood there even when he was with his mother—at the library there were a handful of visitors he would beeline for.  These were the people who shared his love of reading.  They never belittled or bemoaned his presence and would often offer recommendations or take one of his own.  With these friends Abner would talk a mile a minute.  In the end, it was only these friends that noticed when the boy stopped talking completely.

             There were hints of abuse in his demeanor, but no one ever spoke about it.  Most, if not all, adults never knew how to approach such a delicate subject with the precocious child, and he himself never offered any information.  His understanding of the situation was limited. At the time, Abner never knew that his father was an alcoholic.  He didn’t know that was the driving force in the divorce of his parents nor did he know (remember, really) that his father would often verbally abuse his mother. There were times of physical abuse, too, but those seemed to only occur when Abner was out of the house or in bed. His mother attempted on more than one occasion to call the police, but no one ever believed her.

             There were hints of abuse in his demeanor, but no one ever spoke about it.  Once Abner was old enough to realize for himself why his parents hated each other so much he never spent another minute thinking about it.  He pushed all thoughts aside and delved further into his books.  His father didn’t approve much of that tactic.

             The accident that caused Abner’s muteness happened just before his twelfth birthday.  To this day Abner cannot recall what happened to him; only his parents know what truly happened that damaged his vocal chords.  All he remembers are the weeks spent in the hospital, and the welcoming return to the library when he was finally discharged.  He remembers the months spent afterwards reading and rereading the books in the self-help section.  He remembers picking up books on ASL and resorting to teaching himself because no one could be bothered to help him.  He remembers his parents being too busy to care.

             Abner’s father, Roland James Ribeiro, worked, and still does, as a CTO; a chief technology officer.  He would often pretend to be consumed with work, unable to come home, but truthfully, he was consumed by the women in the office.  There hasn’t been one yet he hasn’t hit on.  He openly admits to other coworkers whenever he bangs someone from the office.  No one in Roland’s office was aware that he was married, or even had a son, until one afternoon when his family showed up at his building one day.

             Abner’s mother, Alessandra Roxanne Ribeiro nee Marson, worked as a dental hygienist.  She was the parent truly consumed by work; after divorcing her husband she had to work even more to keep them alive.  She started working as a secretary, and over many, many years worked her way the ranks. When Abner was in fourth grade she started taking online classes to earn her dental hygienist certificate.  Abner has memories of helping her study for these classes.  Unfortunately, Alessandra passed away when Abner was sixteen years old; she had been diagnosed with cancer two years prior.

             Before his mother passed away she was able to sign an emancipation form for Abner.  As a minor he would have gone to live with his next living relative which would have been his father.  He had no intention on staying with the man, and his mother agreed wholeheartedly. She contacted old friends she’d had once been close with, and they agreed to house Abner until he could settle on his own.  Once Abner was emancipated he packed away the rest of their belongings and moved to Oregon.

             In Oregon, he found a new family.  The friends his mother contacted were an elderly couple who had housed her during an internship.  They were kind and understanding, and did not rush him for anything.  They took the boy’s well-being to heart, and even though he was legally his own responsibility, they acted as if he were their own son/grandson.

             While living with the couple, Abner discovered his second favorite hobby; ornithology.  The Haddox’s, Eric and Erica funnily enough, were not-quite-retired ornithologists, and they were more than happy to pass the love of their craft on to Abner.  For his nineteenth birthday Abner was given an African Grey Parrot.  He eventually would name her Blurb.

             Blurb earned her name after reciting back the blurb of a book Erica read offhand.  Delighted by the parrot’s new interest in talking the Haddox’s began to read different books for her to learn.  After a while Blurb could recall them all on her own, and it wasn’t unheard of to hear a description of Stephen King’s latest echoing in the halls.

             Abner’s love of reading persisted through all this time.  He applied to be a librarian before he graduated high school.  He explained to the head librarian, Mildred “Milly” Jensen, his lifelong experience back in his hometown, and after verifying with them he was unofficially a member of their team; The Guild as they referred to themselves. Other members of The Guild include: Milly, Alfreda “Alfie” Minnoh, Sarah Bean, Casper O’Toole, and Frank Bergens.  There are a handful of volunteers working at the library, but Abner doesn’t interact with them as much as the others.

             Before Abner joined their ranks, Alfie was the youngest librarian.  She has the most energy out of all, and is tasked with running the children’s section. She has nearly the same amount of energy as the kids that run around inside and thrives in her environment. Though she may not be the youngest anymore she is still treated as such.  Alfie is always bugging Abner around the work place, and texts him relentlessly.

             Abner is still working on becoming an Official member of The Guild.  He has another year before he earns his Masters in Library Science.  Since he is still in school he does not keep a full-time work schedule.  When he’s not in classes or at work Abner spends his days bargain book-hunting.  He is a well-known customer at every local store, and is often the first to be notified should a rare book crop up.

             His home is stacked top to bottom with books; shelves clutter every available wall and books every available space.  There are stacks in every room.  Some are as wide as he is tall, others as tall as he is wide. Which, truthfully, isn’t very. Among his beloved treasures roam a couple cats, Recto and Verso.  They have free range of the bungalow but have learned the hard way to stay out of Blurb’s way.  Only when Abner’s home do his pets get along amicably.

             The bungalow is the very same he’d moved to when he was sixteen years old.  The Haddox’s finally admitted to being retired, and they moved into a condominium further in the city.  Abner has dinner with them twice a month; once at their place and once at his.   He’s grown to love Eric and Erica more than he ever loved his own parents.  They have always tried to be a part of his life, and have gone as far as learning ASL so he wouldn’t have to constantly write.

             There are very, very few people who have taken the time to do something like that for him.  Most of the time Abner is the one who must concede to make life easier on the other person; writing or texting his responses.  He’s always delighted when someone crops up that knows ASL, and even more so when they are willing to teach him more about it.  He is almost entirely self-taught.  He’s taken one class in college, but realized it would be more effective for him to continue learning on his own.

[afteriwake]

Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures (8/?)

And we now get to meet this infamous M in this world’s Bond universe!

Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures - It all begins with an invitation to Mycroft’s wedding to his PA and seven days at a resort in Jamaica, with the assumption that Molly pretends to be his girlfriend that his mother might be under the impression that he’s going to propose to sooner rather than later. It ends up being so much more than that…

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 8 | HELP ME SURVIVE? | COMMISSION ME? | BUY ME A KOFI?

Sherlock and Robert walked around the resort, looking at the various places where people could be sociable, talking as they moved, and eventually found the now infamous, at least to Sherlock, Aunt Mildred at a table with his Uncle Harrington and Molly. He could already hear the spirited discussion of what constituted a lesser work by Dickens from twenty feet away, and he swore he had never seen a gleam so bright in his uncle’s eye before.

Molly spotted them first. “Sherlock!” she said, a wide smile on her face. “Please come stop them from taking this argument to others who don’t share their love of literature.”

“Sorry, I nodded off during Dickens,” he said, leaning over and pressing a kiss into Molly’s hair, just because he could. “Ask me my opinions on the stories of Doyle and I may be worth having enter the fray.”

“Oh, he did write good science fiction,” Harrington said.

“Yes, but H.G. Wells was better,” Mildred said.

Harrington looked for a moment like he was going to disagree, but then stopped and nodded. “I suppose you have a point there. The Time Machinewas a stellar work. Not fond of the Guy Pearce adaptation, but I wore through many VHS copies of the original production.”

“And just why don’t you like the Guy Pearce version?” Mildred asked, with a mildly pointed tone and a smile on her face.

“Aunt Mildred, we have a Problem,” Robert said, sitting next to his aunt. “With a capital P and the initials SH.”

“What has he done now?” she asked, nodding towards Sherlock.

“She knows you?”Molly murmured as Sherlock sat next to her.

“I’ll explain later,” Sherlock said back. Then he turned to Mildred. “Not me. At least, not this time. The other problematic Holmes child with those initials.”

The amusement dropped off Mildred’s face. “Shit,” she said.

“You’re acquainted with my eldest nephew?” Harrington asked.

“Unfortunately,” Mildred said. She looked at Sherlock, narrowing her gaze. “Robert filled you in, I take it?”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes.”

“And your pretend girlfriend’s clearance level is high enough to know the truth, I suppose?”

Sherlock started to reply but Molly shook her head. “Not so pretend,” she interjected. “At least, not anymore, I suppose.”

Mildred nodded slowly, giving them an approving look. “Good. One less secret for the bastard to ferret out.”

“I’m missing quite a bit here, aren’t I?” Harrington asked with a frown on his face.

“You have the highest clearance of the Holmes family,” Mildred said, turning to him. “Aside from my soon to be in-law and Sherlock, of course. Robert and I work as Her Majesty’s top line of defense when it comes to national security, and your eldest nephew is a threat to Queen and country.”

Realization dawned on Harrington and he nodded slowly. “Ah. That makes sense.”

“What does?” Robert asked.

“Why half the guests I’ve run into so far from Andrea’s side of the family seem so closed off,” Harrington said. “It fits with the nature of what I’m assuming is your family business.”

Mildred shook her head. “For the lot of us, we seem to be very bad at relaxing.”

“You were doing just fine, dear,” Harrington said. “I never would have guessed.”

Mildred gave him a warm smile. “I like you, Harrington. I think I’m going to have you stay nice and close this week.”

“There are worse places to be,” he replied with a grin of his own. “But I imagine we’ll all be keeping an eye on Sherrinford?”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Sherlock said. “I know less about him than almost everyone else, it seems. But I’m willing to go to great lengths for this week not to be ruined.”

“Well, start discretely spreading the word amongst our family he’s here,” Mildred said to Robert. “I’ll send the ones who we can’t afford to have the bastard see off to a lovely vacation on some other Caribbean isle, and we can dip into funds to make sure the wedding gifts are up to scratch for their unfortunate disappearances from the event.”

“Does that include cousin Sharon?” Robert asked. “She’s a bridesmaid.”

“Damn,” Mildred said. “It does.” She thought for a moment. “Your sister is fond of Dr. Hooper. Suggest she take Sharon’s place.”

“What?” Molly asked, her eyes widening.

“You’re the only one in Sherlock’s small group with any real sense, we all know it,” Mildred said. “That’s why we like you. You rein in this walking hurricane next to you.”

“I’ve never been called a walking hurricane before,” Sherlock said in an approving tone of voice.

“It isn’t a compliment,” Mildred said.

“At least it’s not The Ice Man,” Sherlock retorted.

“Oh, we all knew that was a crock of bull the minute Andrea said she had her sights set on your brother,” Mildred said. “But back to the situation at hand. Make the suggestion, get those people out of here we need to get out as quickly as possible, and tell Mycroft and Andrea to extend more invitations at the last minute to some low-level government officials that they need to curry favour with. You know, the ones most aggravated by this one’s stunt.”

Robert nodded. “I’ll get right on it,” he said. “Might need to steal your companions, as they’re the only parts of the wedding party with high enough security clearance.”

“Do what needs to be done,” Mildred said. Robert stood up, as did Sherlock and Molly, before she turned to face Sherlock. “I do actually find you interesting, you know.”

“I’m glad, as we’ll be family by the end of the week,” Sherlock said.

“There are worse families for my niece to marry into,” Mildred said. “At least you and Mycroft turned out well enough.” She then waved her hand at the three of them and turned back to Harrington.

“That’s our official dismissal,” Robert said. The three of them moved away from the table and Sherlock and Molly turned to Robert. “I suppose we start rounding up people and sending them off.”

Sherlock nodded and Robert began walking ahead of him and Molly. Molly looked up at Sherlock, her eyes slightly wide. “Spies, Sherlock?”

“Family business, apparently,” he said.

“Why is nothing normal in your life?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” he replied. “Do you want to stay a part of it?”

“Of course,” she said, reaching for his hand. He felt his heart lighten at that and then they went to go catch up with Robert. That was one small consolation, at least.

[eddiejpoplar]

2019 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 Meets 1990 Corvette ZR1

The first time Teddy Roosevelt’s words, “Speak softly and carry a big stick,” occurred to me as I reviewed a car was while driving a 2009 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1. Now, after testing the new 2019 ZR1 on a couple of racetracks within the span of a few days, “Speak rudely and wield a really fat club” might be more appropriate.

After my first laps at the limit around Road Atlanta in the latest ZR1, the words of General Motors executive VP of global product development Mark Reuss, who was on hand, rang true. “Things haven’t changed at GM as far as stretching the technology envelope,” he said. “ZR1 has to set the upper limits of performance and be a technological beacon in chassis, design, and materials.”

Oh, and don’t forget the engine. Corvette engineers were not content with the kidney-flattening supercharged LT4 V-8 that kicks out 650 hp and 650 lb-ft of torque in the Z06. The new ZR1 has a supercharged LT5 V-8 spitting 755 horsepower at 6,300 rpm and 715 lb-ft at 4,400 rpm. Certified top speed is 212.49 mph, which came from a two-way average (215 mph/210 mph). Chevy restricts the ZR1 to a top speed of 215 mph to be within tire-safety standards. Base price for the coupe is $122,095 when you add the $2,100 gas guzzler tax. The convertible starts at $126,095. Hey, you only need one kidney, anyway.

Coming into turn 1, the car was beyond 150 mph,  still accelerating hard as I entered the brake zone. I pushed the stop pedal hard, and the ZR1 dutifully spit my eyeballs out of my head.

The ZR1 is a heavily track-focused performance car, but I did drive it for several hours on the road. Corvette critics will note nothing particularly different about the ZR1’s interior or controls compared to other C7-generation models, which is no surprise because this is the end of the platform’s life cycle. However, changes to the suspension and magnetic-ride shocks are noteworthy; they provide better ride quality and compliance over road imperfections, noticeable improvements compared to a Z06. That said, new C7 Z06s now receive the same shock programming as the ZR1.

Red and yellow cars with optional matching interior stitching and the manual transmission also get color-synchronized rev-match paddles.

In today’s domestic automaker landscape, it would be reasonable to wonder if there was any pushback from within GM about the merits of building a 755-hp street missile. But apparently not on Reuss’ watch. “The Corvette has always been about attainable high performance,” he said. “As far as the 755 horsepower, approval of something like the ZR1 starts and stops with me.”

Chevrolet says the ZR1 (with the $1,725 eight-speed automatic transmission) runs 0-60 mph in 2.85 seconds and from 0 to 100 mph in just 6.0 seconds. Launching the car from a standstill is not easy; you or the traction control will work overtime to keep wheelspin at bay all the way to 60, which doesn’t do much to help the time.

In other matters, the car has a half-inch-wider front rim size compared to the Z06, which helps the front end work better when combined with the 60 percent increase in overall downforce. Michelin Pilot Sport Cup 2 rubber is on duty, with 285/30-R19s up front and 335/25-R20s in the rear. The downforce improvement (the car produces a total of 950 pounds at top speed with the $2,995 ZTK/high-wing option) also comes with no increase in drag versus the Z06, Chevy says—a nice trick if you can do it.

“The Z06 cooling concerns on-track have been dealt with in the ZR1.”

According to Corvette executive chief engineer Tadge Juechter, in terms of performance goals for the new car, “The ZR1 has always meant top performance, no limits. When we ask the customer, ‘How much power do you want?’ they say, ‘How much can you give me?’ There were no hard requirements like a power number. We tried to extend all aspects as much as possible.” To his point about the definition of the ZR1, the model’s history was front and center in several of the engineering presentations held during the media launch.

“ZR-1” was originally a GM Regular Production Option code identifying a special performance package from 1970 to ’72; it was not originally recognized as a car-model identifier. Meanwhile, of course, many people refer to the 1990 model as the first Corvette ZR-1—The King of the Hill. Initial road tests of the latter created quite a stir almost 30 years ago, with performance far superior to other Corvettes from the late ’70s and early ’80s given that many of them were strangled by emissions regulations. Magazines even pitted the 1990 ZR-1 (375 hp at 6,200 rpm, 370 lb-ft at 4,500 rpm) head-to-head against machines such as the mighty Porsche 911 Turbo—and nobody laughed.

In 1991 the 911 Turbo’s base price was around $100,000. (There was no 1990 model-year Turbo.) The ZR-1 was a comparative bargain at $58,994, with the ZR-1 package accounting for $27,015 of that. People were happy to pay for the new capability, ripping from 0 to 60 mph in less than 5 seconds, which was supercar performance for the era. Credit was given to GM for working with the Mercury Marine Company and Lotus Engineering to help expand the technology envelope, creating the double-overhead-cam LT5 engine and a legend in the process. Lotus also helped with the car’s braking, steering, and adjustable ride control.

In 1990 I raced for the Morrison Motorsports team, the same outfit that set world speed endurance records with a stock 1990 ZR-1 and also campaigned two mostly stock ZR-1s in the 1991 Rolex 24 at Daytona and 12 Hours of Sebring. I drove one of those ZR-1s in both of those races, a car that is now in the Smithsonian collection in Washington, D.C. I also drove a ZR-1 street car back in 1990, and vivid memories are the noise, brutal acceleration, grip level, and stability. The whole package was astonishing for a production car, and the experience of driving that “red rocket” all those years ago is forever welded into my brain.

Now in 2018 I find myself sitting in another red 1990 ZR-1 at the Motorsports Park racetrack in Bowling Green, Kentucky. This pristine example, with just more than 6,000 miles on the odometer, was lent to us by the National Corvette Museum, which owns the track. Leaving pit lane in the old beast, I mused how much fun a 10/10ths hot lap might be. But then I imagined the look on museum curator Derek Moore’s face if his baby came back with chunks of rubber missing. So I took it easy, and the car ran flawlessly while little bursts of acceleration sparked memories of the first time I felt the LT5’s smooth, urgent power.

Then, once again, it was time to drive the 2019 ZR1 on a racetrack. At Road Atlanta three days earlier, the temperature reached almost 90 degrees. Although the car went ridiculously fast, lap records weren’t in the cards thanks to the heat sliming up the tarmac. But the temperature at Motorsports Park was now just 60 degrees.

The ZR1 did not disappoint. Coming into Turn 1, the car was beyond 150 mph, still accelerating hard as I entered the brake zone. I pushed the stop pedal hard, and the ZR1 dutifully spit my eyeballs out of my head. I recently tested a very capable GT4 race car and was impressed by its brakes; the ZR1 was equally impressive. The tires, aerodynamic downforce, and all-new Brembo carbon-ceramic stoppers combined for more than 1.7 g’s worth of deceleration (serious race car good). I made a mental note not to use the brakes this hard with a cement truck behind me out on public roads.

Over the course of several days, I tried both the automatic and seven-speed manual versions of the car; if I were to buy the ZR1 for track days, I would without question buy the automatic. Not only because it shifts quicker but also because I only weigh about 155 pounds; despite using the seat belt locking mechanism, I found myself moving around too much in the seat while on maximum attack due to the forces the ZR1 exerted all the way around Motorsports Park’s 24-turn, 3.2-mile track. In the automatic I can keep both hands on the wheel for a little extra support. It’s worth noting I had no issues at all with the seat holding me solid with normal or spirited street driving.

Corvette interiors have taken much criticism for years, but there’s something appealing about the old ZR-1’s KITT-style controls.

Meanwhile, the car’s E-ticket handling jolted Juechter’s words back to the top of my mind. “The ZR1 technology we’re most proud of is the front underwing and general aero of the car,” he said. “Also, the trackability. It is very easy to drop the suspension and adjust the rear wing, and off you go.” He also addressed the disappointment some people had with the Z06’s lack of cooling during track use: “The Z06 cooling concerns on-track have been dealt with in the ZR1.” To test his claim, I did a long run of almost 25 minutes at Road Atlanta in the blazing heat. My laps, at fast race pace, were all between 1 minute, 30.4 seconds and 1:31.7. Those were quite quick times for the conditions, and the car exhibited very little drop-off in performance.

You probably have read hyperbole, and then some, about road cars that sound unreal. In this case, though, I really have never heard a production car sound this much like a race car in both tone and volume. There is some engineering trickery in one of the mufflers, featuring a spring-loaded valve that burps open or stays closed based on driving style. Bring your earplugs, Mildred.

“Why on earth would anyone want a self-driving Corvette? That would be like having a self-kissing girlfriend.”

At the end of the day, I finally had time to try to rip off a really fast lap in a car equipped with the automatic. At the limit the ZR1 is very balanced; I could easily control both front and rear tire slide with throttle and steering quickly enough to maintain good momentum, never allowing the slide to reach a point where I lost time. When the lap time crackled through the track radio, it blared a new official lap record for a production car on OE tires for the Motorsports Park racetrack: 2:05.59. This time is several seconds quicker than any other production car has managed on the circuit since it opened in 2013.

Perhaps setting a new MSP benchmark was an appropriate way to send the C7 Corvette into the sunset, potentially truly marking the end of an era. A mid-engine Corvette is finally on the horizon, after all, though Reuss and Juechter predictably plead the fifth on any inquiries into the matter. Other creeping—sprinting?—trends such as autonomy could also play a role in the car’s future. “Who wants to sit in traffic for three hours paying attention to stopping and starting if the car can do it for them?” Reuss asked. But Juechter then followed mischievously with a quote from a Corvette customer: “Why on earth would anyone want a self-driving Corvette? That would be like having a self-kissing girlfriend.”

For now and the foreseeable future, then, custodians of performance like Reuss and Juechter plan to keep on facilitating street-legal rockets like the new ZR1. The first time an owner experiences the brutal shove in the back, they’re pretty much guaranteed to think they got a bargain. Teddy Roosevelt would be blown away.

2019 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 Specifications

ON SALE Now PRICE $122,095 (base) ENGINE 6.2L supercharged OHV 16-valve V-8/755 hp @ 6,300 rpm, 715 lb-ft @ 4,400 rpm TRANSMISSION 7-speed manual, 8-speed automatic LAYOUT 2-door, 2-passenger, front-engine, RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 15/22 mpg (city/hwy) L x W x H 179.8 x 77.4 x 48.5 in WHEELBASE 106.7 in WEIGHT 3,560 lb 0-60 MPH 2.85 sec (with automatic) TOP SPEED 215 mph (electronically limited)

The post 2019 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 Meets 1990 Corvette ZR1 appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

from Performance Junk Blogger 6 https://ift.tt/2JYusqh via IFTTT

[jesusvasser]

2019 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 Meets 1990 Corvette ZR1

The first time Teddy Roosevelt’s words, “Speak softly and carry a big stick,” occurred to me as I reviewed a car was while driving a 2009 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1. Now, after testing the new 2019 ZR1 on a couple of racetracks within the span of a few days, “Speak rudely and wield a really fat club” might be more appropriate.

After my first laps at the limit around Road Atlanta in the latest ZR1, the words of General Motors executive VP of global product development Mark Reuss, who was on hand, rang true. “Things haven’t changed at GM as far as stretching the technology envelope,” he said. “ZR1 has to set the upper limits of performance and be a technological beacon in chassis, design, and materials.”

Oh, and don’t forget the engine. Corvette engineers were not content with the kidney-flattening supercharged LT4 V-8 that kicks out 650 hp and 650 lb-ft of torque in the Z06. The new ZR1 has a supercharged LT5 V-8 spitting 755 horsepower at 6,300 rpm and 715 lb-ft at 4,400 rpm. Certified top speed is 212.49 mph, which came from a two-way average (215 mph/210 mph). Chevy restricts the ZR1 to a top speed of 215 mph to be within tire-safety standards. Base price for the coupe is $122,095 when you add the $2,100 gas guzzler tax. The convertible starts at $126,095. Hey, you only need one kidney, anyway.

Coming into turn 1, the car was beyond 150 mph,  still accelerating hard as I entered the brake zone. I pushed the stop pedal hard, and the ZR1 dutifully spit my eyeballs out of my head.

The ZR1 is a heavily track-focused performance car, but I did drive it for several hours on the road. Corvette critics will note nothing particularly different about the ZR1’s interior or controls compared to other C7-generation models, which is no surprise because this is the end of the platform’s life cycle. However, changes to the suspension and magnetic-ride shocks are noteworthy; they provide better ride quality and compliance over road imperfections, noticeable improvements compared to a Z06. That said, new C7 Z06s now receive the same shock programming as the ZR1.

Red and yellow cars with optional matching interior stitching and the manual transmission also get color-synchronized rev-match paddles.

In today’s domestic automaker landscape, it would be reasonable to wonder if there was any pushback from within GM about the merits of building a 755-hp street missile. But apparently not on Reuss’ watch. “The Corvette has always been about attainable high performance,” he said. “As far as the 755 horsepower, approval of something like the ZR1 starts and stops with me.”

Chevrolet says the ZR1 (with the $1,725 eight-speed automatic transmission) runs 0-60 mph in 2.85 seconds and from 0 to 100 mph in just 6.0 seconds. Launching the car from a standstill is not easy; you or the traction control will work overtime to keep wheelspin at bay all the way to 60, which doesn’t do much to help the time.

In other matters, the car has a half-inch-wider front rim size compared to the Z06, which helps the front end work better when combined with the 60 percent increase in overall downforce. Michelin Pilot Sport Cup 2 rubber is on duty, with 285/30-R19s up front and 335/25-R20s in the rear. The downforce improvement (the car produces a total of 950 pounds at top speed with the $2,995 ZTK/high-wing option) also comes with no increase in drag versus the Z06, Chevy says—a nice trick if you can do it.

“The Z06 cooling concerns on-track have been dealt with in the ZR1.”

According to Corvette executive chief engineer Tadge Juechter, in terms of performance goals for the new car, “The ZR1 has always meant top performance, no limits. When we ask the customer, ‘How much power do you want?’ they say, ‘How much can you give me?’ There were no hard requirements like a power number. We tried to extend all aspects as much as possible.” To his point about the definition of the ZR1, the model’s history was front and center in several of the engineering presentations held during the media launch.

“ZR-1” was originally a GM Regular Production Option code identifying a special performance package from 1970 to ’72; it was not originally recognized as a car-model identifier. Meanwhile, of course, many people refer to the 1990 model as the first Corvette ZR-1—The King of the Hill. Initial road tests of the latter created quite a stir almost 30 years ago, with performance far superior to other Corvettes from the late ’70s and early ’80s given that many of them were strangled by emissions regulations. Magazines even pitted the 1990 ZR-1 (375 hp at 6,200 rpm, 370 lb-ft at 4,500 rpm) head-to-head against machines such as the mighty Porsche 911 Turbo—and nobody laughed.

In 1991 the 911 Turbo’s base price was around $100,000. (There was no 1990 model-year Turbo.) The ZR-1 was a comparative bargain at $58,994, with the ZR-1 package accounting for $27,015 of that. People were happy to pay for the new capability, ripping from 0 to 60 mph in less than 5 seconds, which was supercar performance for the era. Credit was given to GM for working with the Mercury Marine Company and Lotus Engineering to help expand the technology envelope, creating the double-overhead-cam LT5 engine and a legend in the process. Lotus also helped with the car’s braking, steering, and adjustable ride control.

In 1990 I raced for the Morrison Motorsports team, the same outfit that set world speed endurance records with a stock 1990 ZR-1 and also campaigned two mostly stock ZR-1s in the 1991 Rolex 24 at Daytona and 12 Hours of Sebring. I drove one of those ZR-1s in both of those races, a car that is now in the Smithsonian collection in Washington, D.C. I also drove a ZR-1 street car back in 1990, and vivid memories are the noise, brutal acceleration, grip level, and stability. The whole package was astonishing for a production car, and the experience of driving that “red rocket” all those years ago is forever welded into my brain.

Now in 2018 I find myself sitting in another red 1990 ZR-1 at the Motorsports Park racetrack in Bowling Green, Kentucky. This pristine example, with just more than 6,000 miles on the odometer, was lent to us by the National Corvette Museum, which owns the track. Leaving pit lane in the old beast, I mused how much fun a 10/10ths hot lap might be. But then I imagined the look on museum curator Derek Moore’s face if his baby came back with chunks of rubber missing. So I took it easy, and the car ran flawlessly while little bursts of acceleration sparked memories of the first time I felt the LT5’s smooth, urgent power.

Then, once again, it was time to drive the 2019 ZR1 on a racetrack. At Road Atlanta three days earlier, the temperature reached almost 90 degrees. Although the car went ridiculously fast, lap records weren’t in the cards thanks to the heat sliming up the tarmac. But the temperature at Motorsports Park was now just 60 degrees.

The ZR1 did not disappoint. Coming into Turn 1, the car was beyond 150 mph, still accelerating hard as I entered the brake zone. I pushed the stop pedal hard, and the ZR1 dutifully spit my eyeballs out of my head. I recently tested a very capable GT4 race car and was impressed by its brakes; the ZR1 was equally impressive. The tires, aerodynamic downforce, and all-new Brembo carbon-ceramic stoppers combined for more than 1.7 g’s worth of deceleration (serious race car good). I made a mental note not to use the brakes this hard with a cement truck behind me out on public roads.

Over the course of several days, I tried both the automatic and seven-speed manual versions of the car; if I were to buy the ZR1 for track days, I would without question buy the automatic. Not only because it shifts quicker but also because I only weigh about 155 pounds; despite using the seat belt locking mechanism, I found myself moving around too much in the seat while on maximum attack due to the forces the ZR1 exerted all the way around Motorsports Park’s 24-turn, 3.2-mile track. In the automatic I can keep both hands on the wheel for a little extra support. It’s worth noting I had no issues at all with the seat holding me solid with normal or spirited street driving.

Corvette interiors have taken much criticism for years, but there’s something appealing about the old ZR-1’s KITT-style controls.

Meanwhile, the car’s E-ticket handling jolted Juechter’s words back to the top of my mind. “The ZR1 technology we’re most proud of is the front underwing and general aero of the car,” he said. “Also, the trackability. It is very easy to drop the suspension and adjust the rear wing, and off you go.” He also addressed the disappointment some people had with the Z06’s lack of cooling during track use: “The Z06 cooling concerns on-track have been dealt with in the ZR1.” To test his claim, I did a long run of almost 25 minutes at Road Atlanta in the blazing heat. My laps, at fast race pace, were all between 1 minute, 30.4 seconds and 1:31.7. Those were quite quick times for the conditions, and the car exhibited very little drop-off in performance.

You probably have read hyperbole, and then some, about road cars that sound unreal. In this case, though, I really have never heard a production car sound this much like a race car in both tone and volume. There is some engineering trickery in one of the mufflers, featuring a spring-loaded valve that burps open or stays closed based on driving style. Bring your earplugs, Mildred.

“Why on earth would anyone want a self-driving Corvette? That would be like having a self-kissing girlfriend.”

At the end of the day, I finally had time to try to rip off a really fast lap in a car equipped with the automatic. At the limit the ZR1 is very balanced; I could easily control both front and rear tire slide with throttle and steering quickly enough to maintain good momentum, never allowing the slide to reach a point where I lost time. When the lap time crackled through the track radio, it blared a new official lap record for a production car on OE tires for the Motorsports Park racetrack: 2:05.59. This time is several seconds quicker than any other production car has managed on the circuit since it opened in 2013.

Perhaps setting a new MSP benchmark was an appropriate way to send the C7 Corvette into the sunset, potentially truly marking the end of an era. A mid-engine Corvette is finally on the horizon, after all, though Reuss and Juechter predictably plead the fifth on any inquiries into the matter. Other creeping—sprinting?—trends such as autonomy could also play a role in the car’s future. “Who wants to sit in traffic for three hours paying attention to stopping and starting if the car can do it for them?” Reuss asked. But Juechter then followed mischievously with a quote from a Corvette customer: “Why on earth would anyone want a self-driving Corvette? That would be like having a self-kissing girlfriend.”

For now and the foreseeable future, then, custodians of performance like Reuss and Juechter plan to keep on facilitating street-legal rockets like the new ZR1. The first time an owner experiences the brutal shove in the back, they’re pretty much guaranteed to think they got a bargain. Teddy Roosevelt would be blown away.

2019 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 Specifications

ON SALE Now PRICE $122,095 (base) ENGINE 6.2L supercharged OHV 16-valve V-8/755 hp @ 6,300 rpm, 715 lb-ft @ 4,400 rpm TRANSMISSION 7-speed manual, 8-speed automatic LAYOUT 2-door, 2-passenger, front-engine, RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 15/22 mpg (city/hwy) L x W x H 179.8 x 77.4 x 48.5 in WHEELBASE 106.7 in WEIGHT 3,560 lb 0-60 MPH 2.85 sec (with automatic) TOP SPEED 215 mph (electronically limited)

The post 2019 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1 Meets 1990 Corvette ZR1 appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

from Performance Junk WP Feed 4 https://ift.tt/2JYusqh via IFTTT