If you haven’t had the thrill of being close by when a supercharger decides enough is enough and pops, allow me to explain in no uncertain terms what the experience is like when it’s close: it triggers a reaction in me that I’ve only experienced in one other situation, usually when a loud blaring alarm is shrieking hard enough to wake the dead in a five-mile radius, shrieks from rockets are audible and impact and detonation noises are coming from the ill-aimed mortar teams. It’s that split-second shock combined with the shockwave from the explosion that catches you off guard and puts your flight-or-fight response into fully automatic mode. It’s events like that and other split-second, unpredictable events that have people at the gates asking you to sign waivers before you drive into the property.
I’m not a skilled enough mechanic to explain just why this thing packed up and pooped the bed during a tuning session. I’m just glad that I’m not old boy hovering in front of the engine when it let loose. It’s a damn good thing that the blower straps were tight, otherwise the front end of that hat would’ve bopped him right in the kisser.