... so I got a little creative. (C'mon, it's only GASOLINE. What harm could it do when you mix it with a little air?)
First, a little mood music:
"Bet'chy'all didn't know it, but I'm a fiddle-player too ... I'd bet yer soul for a fiddle-a-gold that I react a hair fastre'n you ..."
Yup. I kept-a-turnin them-thar screws to three-and-a-half. The book said the Dell'Orto carburetor was strong enough to handle being turned out to four and one-quarter turns without spitting or backfiring and causing a catastrophe. I think "catastrophe" is a scaled term, in hindsight, but it worked out okay for me since I stopped at three-and-a-half. I also changed out the .060 idle jets for my wintertime .070s. I didn't consult the book before I did that.
This whole exercise started when I took the .060s out to clean them.
Vroooooomrattattatttatttattta (rev limiter noises at 6K). Then BRAAAAAAPapattattattattataBRAAAAP. Man, that was COOL. I had my hand on the linkage bar, making sure both were dialed in and that the harmonics weren't screwy, and I decided to drive the car that way for a couple blocks last night. Then I kept driving. Pretty soon, I was on the Interstate. Daggonne it, that little car FLIES.
I did hear the occasional pop. And the occasional hiss. As I got home, I smelled a little gasoline in the exhaust, and the newly-repaired fuel-ometer said that was a costly little 25-mile jaunt. I used 3.125 gallons of gas, by my calculations, in less than 25 minutes with a mix of city (careful) and highway (uh ...) driving. That's about eight mpg ... but the fun-quotient was pegged.
For the record, I have NEVER gotten performance like that out of my car.