I have a great deal of respect for these little workhorses and am dedicating this website in my cars honor. Over the next few years this site will see the transformation of my little car, from a bland little commuter car, to THE fastest Geo Metro ever!

Laugh if you want, but retired auto-shop teacher Richard Thompson and his crew set four records with their '90 Geo Metro. Those are blown records. Why would anyone put a blower on a Geo? Well, last year they set another four records with it naturally aspirated. The blower was the only thing to do without having to run against their own records all week. With a best record average of 144.505mph, the Metro got four different drivers in the record book, did it with a $300 race motor, and scored style bonus points for having the world's first ballistic nylon blower blanket made for the three cylinder Geo motor.

Drag Race of the year
I borrowed my wife's Geo Metro last night. One litre of raw power,
3cylinders of asphalt-tearing terror on thirteen-inch rims. It's
stock,alright, nothing done to it, but it pushes the barely 2000
pounds of Metro around with AUTHORITY. I'm always catching mopeds
and 18-wheelers by surprise...I was headed back from Baskin Robbins
with my manly triple-latte cappuccinoblast ("No Cinnamon, ma'am, I take
it BLACK"), when I stopped at a streetlight. As the Metro throbbed its
throaty idle around me, I sipped my bold beverage and wiped the
white froth my stiff upper lip. I was minding my own business, but then I
heard a rev from the next lane.I turned, made eye contact, then let
my eyes trace over the competition.Ford Festiva -- a late model,
could be trouble. Low profile tires, curbfeelers, and schoolbus-yellow
paint. Yep, a hot rod, for sure.The howl of his motor snapped my reverie,
and I looked back into the driver's eyes, nodded, then blipped my own
throttle. As I tugged on my driving gloves and slipped on my
sunglasses (gotta look cool to be fast, and I am *damn* cool,
hence...), the night was split with the sound of seven screaming
cylinders...Then the light turned...I almost had him out of the
hole, my three pounding cylinders thrusting me at least a
millimetre back into my seat, as smoke pouring from my front right tire...my
unlimited slip differential was letting me down! I saw in the
corner of my eyes, a yellow snout gaining,and I heard the roar of his four
cylinders.
He slung by me, right front wheel juddering against the pavement,
and he flashed me a smile as his .7extra liters of motor stretched its
legs. I kept my foot gamely in it,though, waiting for the CHECK
ENGINE light to blink on in the one-gauge (no tachometer here!)
instrument panel. I saw a glimpse of chrome under his bumper, and
knew the ugly truth...He was running a custom exhaust -- probably a
2-into-1 dual exhaust...may be even cutouts! Damn his hot-rod soul!
The old lady passing us on the cross walk cast a dirty look in our
boy-racer direction...Yet still I persisted, with my three pumping
pistons singing a heady high-pitched song, wound fully out. Though
only a few handfuls of seconds had passed, we were nearing the
crosswalk at the other side of the intersection, and I heard the
note of his engine change as he made his shift to second, and I saw his
grin in his rearview mirror fade as he missed the shift! I rocketed
by, shifting, and nursed the clutch gently in to keep from bogging,
keeping my motor spinning hot and pulling me ahead, now trailing a
cloud of stinking clutch smoke. Not ready to give up so easily,he
left his foot in it, revving, and I heard one wheel *almost* chirp
as he finally found second and dropped the clutch.
We careened over the crosswalk, now going at least 15 miles per
hour. A bicyclist passed us, but intent on the race as we were, neither
of us batted an eye.He pulled slowly abreast of me, and neck and neck,
we made the shift to third, the scream of motors deafening all
pedestrians within a five footcircle. He nosed ahead as we passed
30 miles an hour, then eased in front of me, taunting, as we shifted
into fourth. I was staring up the dual 6"chrome tips of his
exhaust, snarling, my cappuccino forgotten, as he lifted a little to take
the next corner.I saw my opportunity, and counting on the innate
agility of my trusty steed,I pulled wide into the number two lane and kept
my foot buried in carpet.
Slowly, I inched around him, feeling my Metro roll slowly to the
left as I came abreast in the midst of this gradual sweeping turn. I
felt the Geo ease onto its suspension stops, and felt the right rear
wheel slowly leave the ground - no matter, though, because my drive
wheels,up front, were pulling me through the corner, and around the
Festiva...The Ford driver beat his wheel in rage as my wife's car
eased past him on the outside, my P165/54R13's screaming in
protest, as we raced to the next light. We coasted down, neck-and neck, to
the red light. I tightened my driving gloves, ready for another round,
when this WIMP in the next car meekly flipped his turn signal and
made a right. Chevy (Suzuki) superiorityreigns!!!I drove off
sipping my masculine drink, awash in my sheer virility, looking for
other unwitting targets...Perhaps a Yugo, or maybe even a
Volkswagon.