I have a new Roush 451 in my CSX 4000. It benched test at 455 peak HP. The guy who installed the engine was REALLY good (Vernon at Park Place in Seatle). He used to, or still does as a hobby, build and race top fuel dragsters. Anyway, he told me the
oil pressure sensor gauge (I'm knowlegeable but not too much) on my car is at the end of the
oil cycle and loop. In other words, in my hot rod the
oil pressure is being measured after it goes though the pump and engine. At idle it reads 18-23 psi, depending on the temperature, which he said is normal. But at 5,000 RPM, and I'm still breaking this dragon in with only 1,900 miles on her (yes, mine is a dragon, not a snake), it reads 110 psi. Keep in mind that this is at the end of the run. My guess is that if you measured it just after or nearer to the oil pump, it would be much, much higher of a reading. And he insists I use 5W30, always.
This past week I was burning one quart of oil every 100 miles. When I really got on her, she was blowing blue smoke. Even a novice like me knows this is not good. My engine and car builder/finisher guy, Vernon, installed HUGE 3/4 -1" SS aircraft braided lines (frankly, I'm not sure of the exact size). When I lifted the car, there were several spots that showed evidence that oil was misting out, creating a coat of oil on the underside of the chassis. It was so fine, it did not even leak on my garage floor, and it is carpeted (I pulled several hundred squares from an office complex dumpster).
I wrenched down "gootentight," per my tech guy's instructions, all of the oil fittings (using 30-34 MM wrenches), and all of the bolts on the 12 quart oil pan (there were 2 places it was spraying).
Now here is the funny part. Over the past week I have been giving rides in my little dragon, raising money at work for the United Way Chicago chapter where I live and work. I marketed it as a "Power Lunch" and for $50 or $100 you could buy an hour or two with me on Lake Shore Drive, the Mag Mile, a Guiness at a bar called Dublins near Rush Street, etc. etc. It cost me at least $200 per ride with fuel, oil, insurance, beer and depreciation, but what the hell, I'm driving at lunch anyway. So today I had a sweet girl, who loved speed, ready to go wild. So I lit it up, in part to test my handyman's fix last night, and second to give her a thrill of her life. I took her up to 130 for 5 or less seconds, on I55, just before it splits into Lake Shore Drive going either north or south, near Soldier Field. It is a perfect place for this because it is about 9 lanes wide---I'm not kidding. So I had cleared all traffic, and punched it through 2nd, 3rd and 4th. No blue smoke! Cool. Well, apparently I had not noticed the blue wrapper I blew by in 2nd gear. OMG, HE WAS FROTHING AT THE MOUTH PISSED, COULD HARDLY SPEAK, when he walked up to me, looking down, scowling. I knew immediately I was going to jail, that there was nothing to do but be honest and polite. My only hope at the time was that he'd let my lady rider off to take a cab back to the office.
He told me, this really nicely dressed undercover officer in a REALLY polished dark metallic blue wrapper, which struck me odd at the time, it had been years since he had driven so fast in such a short stretch. Again, I lit it up but good, but only briefly. He said he was doing 150 to catch me. I never saw him until he was 6 feet off my bumper and I was going 45. The guy was FROTHING at the mouth, keep in mind. So here is this really nicely dressed, articulate plain clothed police officer, driving a perfectly dressed hot rod blue wrapper, which I have never seen anywhere on the road up until then.
This story gets better, so stay with it. I'm in sales, so to speak, so I read people really well. I figure out that he is testing me: he wants to make sure I am the idiot, arrogant, rich asshole who he has pegged me for. I am not, but that is what he wants to prove out. After 12 "I'm so sorry officer, I am an idiot" kind of nervous blurbs out of my mouth, I tell him two things. I preface each statement by saying: "Officer, you will not believe this....." And both times he snaps back and says: "Oh, you are SO correct but go on......"
#1: "I have NEVER gotten a speeding ticket in my life and I am 50 years old." He laughed.
#2: "I am raising money for the United Way." He laughed again, and said: "Where is your license? Have you thought that I may want to see that?" I said "Yes Sir. But to do so, I need to unbuckle these racing harnesses. Would it be OK that I do that?" He said: "Whatever." or something like that. I'm going to jail, I thought again. So I pulled up on the safety strap, the buckles fly like they do when you pull really hard, like scratch the paint, they fly over the door sill and rear deck shelf, hard. I'm thinking: I hope he does not shoot me: I have a lovely wife and two girls, 9 and 11, counting on me. Dead is no good for them. Jail is inconvenient; dead is bad.
Did I mention I have a stuffed dragon zip strapped to my roll bar??? He must of thought I was........well, a lunatic??????
He then said,and these were his final words: "Please, slow down, be a little safer." I said in shock: "OK, Sir." And he walked over to his hot rod and lit it up, speeding away, leaving me slack-jawed and dumbfounded. No ticket. No ****. I am not making this up. It happened today at about 1:15 CST where I described. I blew by so many cars before I really lit it up with no traffic in front of me, there must be dozens of witnesses. And I had one charitable girl in my car. But PLEASE, do not dig so deep into this story to prove this out, or find it flawed and untruthfull, as it is not. It is the: I swear to God, may my mother be struck dead if I am BS-ing any of this, truth. If my wife finds out she WILL shoot me...in the groin if you get my drift. I told her the whole story, but not the exact details of the (130 MPH) infraction. Being the best wife in the world, she said: "How was the rest of the ride and your day?"
Now here is the punch line: My United Way rider later said: "I didn't see the name on his name badge, but I did see "Commissioner." Well, that explains it all, his dress, his articulate but frothy manner, and no ticket. He wasn't going to give me a ticket. If I was the arrogant asshole he thought I was, he was going to call in the troops and have my ass hauled away. He was a car nut like us. He wanted to see my race car, up close. He wanted a reason to take his blue wrapper up to 150, albeit briefly, since I had done my little dirty deed in less than one half of a mile. He had no tickets to write a citation; he was an executive for either the State or City of Chicago police. I write hoping he will someday read this and smile, saying: "No ****, that excentric guy was telling me the TRUTH, God bless him." My rider and I laughed on and off for the next two hours, while going REALLY slow up and down Lake Shore Drive.
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