You may remember the childish bickering that took place during our last Management Fleet inauguration. Boys and their toys, after all. But that was last month. We’ve matured, and settle such matters now with dignity and sophisticated debate.
Having won the office paper-rock-scissors tournament, I got first dibs with the new Chevrolet Camaro SS: a 6.2l V8, 426hp, 0-100kph in 5.1s and rear-wheel drive. Oh, and it’s a convertible.
In true muscle car style, our SS has the presence of a loosely chained Doberman: a menacing glare, hunched shoulders and – on start-up – a low growl threatening imminent attack. Just imagine one of these slowly getting bigger in your rearview mirror. Exactly.
One solid afternoon of introductory hooning and the trip computer had already gained two hundred clicks. Seems giving the Camaro a bootful when in first or second gear doesn’t get old quickly.
Nor does finding the nearest roundabout. This same rudimentary driving technique spins the rears nicely, snapping the back out. It’s hard to hide your smiles when the roof’s down.
But on that note, be aware of which radio station you’re listening to at the time. I’ve fallen victim to that before.