Final Drive: 2004 Suzuki Vitara 2.5 V6

2004 Suzuki Vitara 2.5 V6. Click image to enlarge

We arrive at the top of the hill and position the tired Vitara so if the brakes fail we will cause minimal carnage. My compatriot and his offspring exit the vehicle, giggling, while I roll down the windows in an effort to reduce tire-shredding-induced black lung.

The first attempt – dry tires, gear selector in D – is not a success. There’s a lot of engine whine and power being sent to the torque convertor, but the rest of the driveline stays still. Fortunately, there is a little switch marketed “Power” beside the gear shifter. I always thought it was kind of like pressing the “Turbo” button on an old 486/DX2-66 – it makes a light come on but doesn’t do much else. I was wrong and the second attempt was half successful; in other words, a one-wheel peel.

At this point I am getting fairly frustrated with this old fart-can. “You have two rear axles for a reason!” I am saying in my head. But, maybe the rear differential has just had enough and given up the ghost. Or maybe it just needs a little lubricated help. Let’s go with the latter possibility before turning tail and aborting our glorious Revenge Day.

A quart of oil is cracked open and the unspun tire given a good liquid lather of dino juice. Also, I remember there are a couple of slots below D on the gear selector. We’ll try “1” this time.

It was at that moment the Vitara gave the best performance of its whole entire life on the road, engine bouncing off the rev-limiter like a bewildered moth against an outdoor porch light. Both tires were spinning freely atop fairly unused pavement, creating a rubber-tar-gravel mixture behind it. The rear brakes, or what was left of them, creating a sound that could only be described as Richard Simmons being neutered with a pair of garden sheets without the aid of local anesthetic. We’ve found the recipe for a perfect Vitara burnout.

Over and over again we drop elevens as if rubber and time are infinite resources. The smoke produced is thick like Snooki’s comprehension of the Higgs boson; the cul-de-sac is starting to look like automotive thatch work. If there were a fire helicopter nearby, someone would be making a radio call.

Before the tires shred themselves down to wiry carcasses, we decide to head back to the house. After all, we don’t want to ride down a hill on steel rims with a young un’ in the back.

We approach the driveway and turn in to the right.

CLICK-CLICK-CLICK.

We’ve shattered the rear diff. Revenge Day is complete and successful. This is the last Suzuki I’ll ever own (but not necessarily drive… stay tuned), and it went out in style leaving everything it had in the pumpkin.

I learned something today: the best burnout is the one where you don’t care what happens to the car. If something breaks, it breaks. It’s all about the show. Revenge Day at its finest.