Still, our impression of the Viper is that it is just too much: too massive, too rough riding, too loud, too powerful. In truth, the Viper is even faster than the driver realizes. Wind it up in second and you're doing 70. Snap it into third and you're soon past 100. Corners arrive quickly.

If American muscle cars are renowned for having bags of torque, the Viper supplies its torque in Hefty Cinch Saks. Try to stuff the Viper's might into an ordinary trash bag and you'll be left with messy foot-pounds all over the driveway.

First gear seems too low for anything but straight-line launches: Press too anxiously on the gas pedal when the Viper is not pointed straight, and the car will soon be facing the other way. There are quicker methods for turning the car around than shifting into reverse: Just crank in some steering lock, punch it, et voila, instant 180.

Second is much more useful and flexible. The V10 has enough low-rpm grunt to pull out of any corner in second where, relative to first, the driver has a little margin for error. Once the car crouches a little, as the weight transfers to the rear wheels, the driver can safely pour on the power and rocket up to 80 mph, where it's time to shift into third.

Third, of course, is an all-important supplier of speed in the rapid transition from second to fourth. But it's also a great gear for driving around town, allowing the Viper to happily chug along in slow traffic, while still keeping the revs below the drone point at higher speeds. It's a fun gear.

Fourth is pretty much a highway gear. It's also the highest useful gear for most race tracks. It would take a long straight to hit the redline in fourth. Fifth is for Interstate highway travel. Sixth is for the EPA, and it contributes to the Viper's unrealistic 21-mpg highway fuel-economy rating. (We saw 11 mpg in mixed driving.) In sixth gear, the engine loafs at 1700 rpm at 80 mph. If the Viper could pull to its redline in sixth gear, it would have a top speed of 280 mph.

The Viper's extremely powerful four-wheel-disc brakes provide huge stopping power and are easily modulated at the limit. They have the fine controllability race drivers require.

So much for ability. Now let's talk about personality.

A Porsche's flat-6 shrieks with Continental verve, as if it were always on its way to Monte Carlo. A Corvette's V8 thunders and rumbles, the fuel-injected embodiment of Rock'n'Roll.

The Viper's truck-based V10 sings with as much melody as the backup generator at Bellevue.

Okay, so the V10's sound doesn't exactly encourage you to delay a shift, but it does have a certain remorseless efficiency to it. You can hear the difference between the dopey woof of your neighbor's Golden Retriever and the threatening bark of the vaguely Rottweiler-looking mongrel in the junkyard. When the Viper barks, it pays to be on your guard. The hefty, long-throw shifter suggests that the driver is contributing significantly to the Viper's forward progress. This is no push-button auto shifter. Unlike a Porsche, the Viper doesn't seem smarter than its driver.

The ride is rock hard. The Viper bobs on bumps, and it's a handful on rough-pavement corners when the hammer is down. Like most high-performance sports cars, the Viper demands attentiveness. The driver's seat is not a good place for making telephone calls. Even rubber-necking at all those young hardbodies looking your way can get you into trouble. The steering is quick. If the car hits a bump when the driver has only one hand on the steering wheel and the other on, say, the shifter, the impact is sharp enough to cause the single arm to pull the steering wheel to the left. (Note to self: Keep both hands on the wheel.) At low speeds, the steering is very light, making it easier to maneuver in tight parking lots.