How does one untangle the Gordian Knot that is the C7 Stingray?
Without question, the C2 Stingray was a pretty piece of America’s motoring past. But over time the “’Vette” devolved into the murky mire of middle-aged men with leather jackets and ponytails.[1] Indeed, nothing brought nightclub promoters and dentists together like the ’Vette. And like so many of its owners, the body of the ’Vette was squishy and wobbly. In other words, the ’Vette became a cheap American commodity like Twinkies and Slim Jims.[2] Consider this, Barbie and Ken have driven a pink one for years. And for that reason, no gentleman motorist would drive one.
But now Chevy presents us with the C7 Stingray, and heads are scratched. Like one’s first (and only) dalliance with Crystal Pepsi, one is confronted with a staggering sense of WTF?[3] The ’Vette has always delivered power at a relatively low price point.[4] And again, the C7 Stingray does not disappoint. But gone is the lack luster interior and plastic body panels that squish to the touch like the abdomen of the Pillsbury Dough Boy. Instead, we have a taught and streamlined sports car with a carefully crafted cabin and a massive 6.2L V8 cranking out 455 bhp or 460 bhp with the optional performance exhaust. And you can have all this for roughly the same price as a nicely equipped BMW 5-Series. To put a finer point on it, one could almost have two C7 Stingrays for the price of one V8 Jaguar F-Type. To quote Messieurs David Cole and Robert Clivillés, “Things that make you go hmmm.”
At the end of the day, a gentleman motorist will have far more in common with Tom Hiddleston, Sir Ben Kingsley, and Mark Strong[5] than Stone Cold Steve Austin, Tony Danza, and Charlie Sheen.[6] Aye, there's the rub. Shall gentleman motorists re-appropriate the word “’Vette?” Or will Barbie and Ken be parking a pink C7 Stingray in the driveway of their Malibu Beach home? Perish the thought.
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[1] The Gentleman Motorist knows this to be true because one such man threatened the Gentleman Motorist with a knife. A note to our readers, a colichemarde is a far more acceptable instrument with which to demand satisfaction. But this man owned a ’Vette. So the Gentleman Motorist was not surprised to see the flash of a stiletto. At least it wasn’t a shiv.
[2] The Gentleman Motorist has had his fair share of Twinkies and Slim Jims. And that number is one.
[3] Not right here. Not right now. Not ever, Edward Van Halen.
[4] The lone exception was the dismal, paltry, and comically inefficient engine of the C4. 230 bhp from a naturally aspirated V8? Cadillac V8s could thump those numbers back in the 1950s. Wait. What? I’m sorry. What is “energy regulation”?
[5] The three new pitchmen for Jaguar. Oh yes, it's good to be bad.
[6] The Gentleman Motorist was surprised to discover a website dedicated to memorializing “famous” ’Vette owners. The Gentleman Motorist was not surprised to learn that said inventory reads like a marketing distribution list for Valtrex.
Photo(s) from Wikipedia.
But now Chevy presents us with the C7 Stingray, and heads are scratched. Like one’s first (and only) dalliance with Crystal Pepsi, one is confronted with a staggering sense of WTF?[3] The ’Vette has always delivered power at a relatively low price point.[4] And again, the C7 Stingray does not disappoint. But gone is the lack luster interior and plastic body panels that squish to the touch like the abdomen of the Pillsbury Dough Boy. Instead, we have a taught and streamlined sports car with a carefully crafted cabin and a massive 6.2L V8 cranking out 455 bhp or 460 bhp with the optional performance exhaust. And you can have all this for roughly the same price as a nicely equipped BMW 5-Series. To put a finer point on it, one could almost have two C7 Stingrays for the price of one V8 Jaguar F-Type. To quote Messieurs David Cole and Robert Clivillés, “Things that make you go hmmm.”
At the end of the day, a gentleman motorist will have far more in common with Tom Hiddleston, Sir Ben Kingsley, and Mark Strong[5] than Stone Cold Steve Austin, Tony Danza, and Charlie Sheen.[6] Aye, there's the rub. Shall gentleman motorists re-appropriate the word “’Vette?” Or will Barbie and Ken be parking a pink C7 Stingray in the driveway of their Malibu Beach home? Perish the thought.
_____________________________________________
[1] The Gentleman Motorist knows this to be true because one such man threatened the Gentleman Motorist with a knife. A note to our readers, a colichemarde is a far more acceptable instrument with which to demand satisfaction. But this man owned a ’Vette. So the Gentleman Motorist was not surprised to see the flash of a stiletto. At least it wasn’t a shiv.
[2] The Gentleman Motorist has had his fair share of Twinkies and Slim Jims. And that number is one.
[3] Not right here. Not right now. Not ever, Edward Van Halen.
[4] The lone exception was the dismal, paltry, and comically inefficient engine of the C4. 230 bhp from a naturally aspirated V8? Cadillac V8s could thump those numbers back in the 1950s. Wait. What? I’m sorry. What is “energy regulation”?
[5] The three new pitchmen for Jaguar. Oh yes, it's good to be bad.
[6] The Gentleman Motorist was surprised to discover a website dedicated to memorializing “famous” ’Vette owners. The Gentleman Motorist was not surprised to learn that said inventory reads like a marketing distribution list for Valtrex.
Photo(s) from Wikipedia.
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