I appreciate a smokin’ hot burnout as much as the next guy, especially when one of the six muscle cars profiled yesterday is laying down the rubber.
A burnout, though, has a time and a place where it’s appropriate. Any burnouts outside that time and place are no longer cool, just pathetic attempts at trying to be cool.
Driving yesterday during rush hour, a beefed-up new Camaro SS was stopped at a light a few car lengths ahead. I could hear its massive V8 revving up, the 6.2 breathing in and out as the RPMs rose and fell. It sounded cool, and I anticipated a decent tire chirp at launch.
Then the light turned green.
Instead of a chirp, the Camaro and the car directly behind it were enveloped in a white cloud of burnt rubber. The Camaro sat for a few seconds in what would have been a sweet burnout had it happened on a track. Instead all the moron driver accomplished was a hefty addition to the already palpable road rage that brews in stop-and-go traffic.
While burnouts on the street are stupid, burnouts on street tires are even worse. Is it really worth the wasted gas and thrashed tires just to piss off a line of commuters trying to get home? The guy might as well have gotten out of the car wearing his wife beater and camo hat, mullet flapping in the breeze, stood on the hood and flexed his beer-wasted muscles.
It’s guys like him that give muscle cars, and Camaros specifically, a bad name. Yeah, the engine is meant to be opened up, but save it for deserted back roads or days at the track. In traffic, cruise slowly and let the potential of your car and its low-rumbling V8 impress drivers.
And maybe a well-timed chirp of the tires.
What’s your take on an all-out street burnout?