SHE'S BACK, IN AMERICA'S MEANEST CAR

The Dodge Viper GTS coupe: a gut-wrenching exterior, a perfect ten (cylinders) within.

Like you, I work too hard (that's me suffering in the blue Dodge Viper GTS Coupe pictured below). And dammit, after all those hours in the office, I deserve better than takeout and TV. No, I prefer to put every second of free time into rollicking, on-the-edge, nobody-will-believe-this use. In other words, I play hard too. My passion, as I've admitted before in the pages of FORTUNE, is cars, but I warm to any number of thrill-producing machines--motorcycles, planes, boats, you name it. I'll share my findings with you regularly in this column. So sit back, relax, be tempted. Welcome to Adrenaline Anonymous.

Why the Viper Coupe, other than the fact that it's the first American sports car in decades to both reclaim our proud muscle-car tradition and challenge the refined European supercars? Before I load you up with the startling high-performance data, I'll give you the shorthand answer: I was talking to a Viper owner about why he likes the car so much. "That's easy," he said without hesitation. "It's like rough sex."

I had three other reasons to drive the new, faster, lighter, nimbler hardtop Viper, introduced a few months ago: (1) It was highly influenced by one of the all-time great racers, the 1965-66 Shelby Daytona GT ("Bodacious and basic," explained Viper executive engineer Roy Sjoberg); (2) it lists for $66,000--by far the cheapest, best-performing exotic around (all right, $73,000, including luxury and gas-guzzler taxes, but who's counting?); (3) it has--listen up--a monster V-10 engine that delivers more torque and more displacement than any other current production-car engine. For the techies, that means an eight-liter, 450-horsepower powerplant that delivers 490 pound-feet of torque at 3,700 rpm. For everyone else, that means you can effortlessly outrun Ferraris, Porsches, and every state trooper in the land.

For my testing pleasure, Dodge very nicely delivered one of these beasts to my hotel in San Francisco (as I said, work, work, work). When I came down to the lobby, the place was empty--the entire staff was on the sidewalk, trying to figure out what the car was and whether it would bite if approached too closely. There was much pacing and nervous laughter. In fairness, I took a big step back myself: This muscly, low-slung, swoopy rocket was unlike anything else I'd seen on the street. I slid down into the luscious black leather wraparound driver's seat, turned the key, and smiled at the deep-throated sound of all ten cylinders growling to life.

At first, tooling around town, I was distracted by the Viper's long-traveling clutch, serious white-on-black instrumentation, and hulking presence. I was also distracted because people stared, hitchhiked, drag-raced, and, in one man's case, videotaped the Viper--while he was driving. I thought it was such an obvious, um, power car that people would be turned off, but instead men asked to see the engine, and a traffic cop pulled me over just to discuss how it handled. How would I know? I hadn't gotten it out of second gear yet. It was time to find empty, snaking roads.

Did I ever. Miles and miles of the twistiest, hilliest pavement I could find, and in Marin County, that's saying a lot. Turning off the CD player so that I could better focus on the James Earl Jones bass of the engine, I dropped into first gear and floored it. The Viper whiplashed me into the seatback and shot into a sweeping corner--powerful, graceful, game for anything. I held on tight, but as I worked into higher gears and coaxed a squeal or two out of the ultrasticky tires ("You did? That's pretty tough to do," commented Maurice Liang, Viper Club of America president), the Viper's true character emerged. To its credit, it has the smoothness of a grand touring car, but its soul is a wild thing, arrogant and assured in every move, barely tamed by my puny attempts at control. The Viper humored me, but it was hungry for more--throttle, torque, top end. Capable of doing zero to 60 mph in 4.1 seconds and 186 mph, it strained to do what came naturally. For the first time in a long while, I knew I wouldn't reach the limits of a car's engine.

I did, however, discover the limit of the brakes. Going 60 mph into a sharp uphill turn, I didn't see Bambi until too late. Like any good deer, this one stood frozen in the middle of the road, transfixed by the thundering devil pointed right at its soft brown eyes. I did what any good driver should never do: Stand tall and proud on the brake pedal, while the locked-up wheels slid in an arrow-straight line (none of those sissy antilock brakes here, thank you very much). When the menacing front grille screeched to a stop and barely tapped the doe, she sprang to life and fled. I sat there panting, enveloped in a thick fog of tire smoke.

The rest of the day, I plied the Viper's throttle, drowning in the deafening Cigarette-boat howl of power. (I know this is the third reference to engine sound, but trust me when I say it's a big part of the experience.) And have I mentioned that it's a blinding metallic "banzai blue"? ("Phat color!" a hip-hop bystander had yelled in the city.) Between eyeing the lineup of gauges and luxuriating in the comfy high-bolster seat, I'd occasionally catch a glimpse of something moving fast off the right fender swell; it was the reflection of tree blur on electric blue.

Back in San Francisco's crowds, the Viper reverted to its show-car self. But I knew better. As much fun as it was to watch every head on the block turn, it was far more fun--the stuff of speed legend, really--to get to the inner Viper, all ten cylinders. I had fallen in love--not a tender, sweet love, but the searing, blood-pounding kind. This is a car for people who live by extremes and never choose the middle road. I'll be calling a dealer shortly. As I headed to the hotel, a crazed pit bull hanging out the back of a station wagon caught sight of the Viper and began to bark hysterically. It takes one to know one.

MAKING TRACKS TO THE SNAKE PIT

When Dodge introduced the Viper Coupe in June, it gave car-delivery priority to owners of its predecessor, the Viper Roadster. About 75% of 1996 production is going to those folks, which leaves a few hundred Vipers that are still available and will be distributed among Dodge dealers nationwide this fall. You can call your local outfit, or you can opt to go straight to a Viper specialist; Viper Club president Maurice Liang recommends Latham Dodge in Twin Falls, Idaho (208-736-7080), and Fitzgerald Dodge in Laconia, New Hampshire (800-VIPER-15). Or spend a mere $450 for a one-day Car Control Clinic at Skip Barber Racing School, offered at tracks nationwide (800-221-1131). Not only will you get the chance to drive a Viper, but you'll do it on a track--insurance-free.

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