Let some air out, now they're at 33 all around.
It's cool, the nozzle I have at the end of the compressor does a great job bleeding off excess air when detached from the hose.
*Like any real man, I have my own compressor, a 3hp thing that makes as much noise as a gas lawnmower and vibrates so much that it has it's own suspension. It's suspended on four springs on a wooden board with rubber feet, and it still moves around by itself. Gas station compressors are for the wimmins and chilluns.*
Definite performance and handling improvement. It's still an underpowered boat, but it's not too bad.
The problem I find is that I'm something of an old lady driver. I find myself going the speed limit, signalling early, letting assholes cut me off without going crazy on them. It's not anything concious, but I find myself being more cautious because I have a larger car and I don't have the acceleration or deceleration necessary for emergency manuvers. Of course, it's going to take two weeks in the Maxima to completely erase those habits and turn me into a little boy street-racer.
I just need to get more time in with the five-speed before I can use it as a daily driver. I can shift without many problems, and I can do back roads fine, but I find myself spending a fair amount of my time focusing on gears. Once I can shift it without having to think about it, then I start taking it to work.
It's a vicious cycle. 90% of my driving is to work, and a decent chunk of my pitiful salary goes towards the car. Worth it? Hell yes. I am a babe magnet with that bad boy. Aside from the daily 'Clark Griswold called, he says he wants his car back!' joke, it actually fares pretty well with the ladies. S'pose it reminds them of a limo.