In sympathy
Since a friend over at Intellectual Orgy recently got a ticket, and it reminded me of a few past indiscretions involving my lead-lined sneakers.
About a year after I moved to ‘Vegas, my dutiful little motorcycle started giving me some grief and electrical issues, so I opted to buy a car to get me through the winter months. Since I was working a crummy job at the time, I had to get something cheap. ‘Cheap’ ended up being a 1974 Plymouth Grand Fury Brougham. This translates into a car 18 feet long, 8 feet wide, weighing in at 6,200 pounds. That’s right, three point one TONS of good ol’ American steel automobile – wearing classic 70’s Dodge Bronze paint, a vinyl top and opera windows.
When she rolled off the line, she was a classy ride – power steering, power brakes, AC, AM / FM 8-track cassette, the space to sleep 8 comfortably and ability to double as a landing strip. Oh, one more thing: a giganamous 400 cubic inch Mopar powerplant. It seems that in the year she was made, all the cops were driving Furys, so the ‘stock’ motor was a bit overpowered to begin with, even before the police mods that turned them into chase cars. The speedo stopped at 120mph, and I pegged the needle at least once.
Of course, it took me a full mile to get it up to that speed, and I didn’t stay there long because of the corner a couple miles down the road…
Anyway, one night the EMC and I are over at her parent’s house watching tv with her sister when we decide it’s time for me to make a burger run – during my favorite show, of course. Being a dutiful husband, I jump behind the wheel and plant a foot on the ‘GO’ pedal and tear-ass down to BK.
Ten seconds later, I realize I’m going the wrong way. Whoops! Pull a quick U-turn (well, quick for anything smaller than the Titanic, anyway…) and I’m headed North again. Two blocks down, the light turns yellow, and I have enough room to stop so I take my foot off the accelerator – when I notice the car next to me lunge forward to make the light.
“Well hell, if he can do it, so can I…” and I stomp the pedal same as he did. I sure loved to hear that motor roar and watch the front end lift from the massive torque that thing produced.
That’s when my mind rewinds, and I remember seeing the car next to me do the same thing. The car with the white hood. And black fender. With numbers on it…fuck, that was a cop.
Sure enough, he drops back and lights ’em up, so I meander on over to the curb. He saw me signal to pull over before he hit the lights, so he just let me off with a warning, but I think it was also in surprise that I beat him through the light :)
Hollerings