<VV> "thrill-handling Corvair"--Me Too Post--Sort of

[Steven J. Serenska]

[Warning: This is long.  Delete if busy or bored with the topic.]

> Like Dave I have matured--sort of--and no longer oblige that charging Mustang on my bumper by acceleraing in a curve and continuing on while he (it was always a he) goes all squirrely behind me trying to stay on the road.  I stopped after one guy almost slid into some trees sideways.  I just grit my teeth and put up with him on my bumper now.
After lurking for a long while, I guess this is my week for telling 
stories.

I beat a guy through the curves once in my Corvair, but my absolute joy 
in doing so turned out to be short lived.

In the last few years of her life, my mother made a number of visits to 
the emergency room.  She suffered from a degenerative disease and her 
capacity for movement diminished faster than she could understand.  She 
would forget one day that she couldn't walk as well as she had before, 
and would get up to do something ... and fall. One time, this happened 
on a Friday night.  I got the call at work and met the ambulance at the 
hospital in my suit and tie.  She was ok, but we were in the emergency 
room for 8+ hours.  I had driven my '66 Corsa Coupe to work.

After they released her, I drove her to her home in my Corsa, got her 
inside and settled.  They had done a lot of tests (including an MRI, 
etc), so it was 3 in the morning when I finally pointed the Corsa toward 
home.  As I was driving down the interstate, I thought of a statistic I 
had once heard that, on any weekend night after midnight, one in four 
cars on the road is being driven by an intoxicated driver.  I was 
amusing myself by noting that all the cars around me seemed to be living 
up exactly to that statistic.  I was also watching out for them.

There's an exit off the interstate that starts toward my town at four 
lanes and 50mph, but drops down to two lanes and 30 mph a few miles 
later.  Almost immediately after I got on this road, I came up behind 
two obviously intoxicated drivers.  They were driving side by side, both 
going about 38mph in the 50 zone.  The guy in the left lane was driving 
one of those small, jacked-up, mud-covered Toyota 4x4 pickups.  He would 
not pull over, no matter how many times I flicked my lights.  Let's just 
say that, at 3 in the morning, when all I wanted to do was go home, he 
was pissing me off.

The three of us drove in a cluster like this for awhile until we came up 
on a guy in the right lane who must have been MORE intoxicated than 
either of the other two.  The new guy was going about 28 in the 50 
zone.  I thought to myself, "Now I've got you, you stupid son of a 
b*tch".    When the slowest car caused the guy in the right lane to slow 
way down, the right lane opened up.  I gunned it and passed the pickup 
on the right.

He was not pleased.

I sped up to about 65mph and he took off after me.  Fortunately, his 
driving skills weren't allowing him to close the gap as fast as he 
wanted, but I could see he was gaining ground.  I was watching his 
progress in the mirror and I remembered that there are some serious 
S-curves on this road.  It occurred to me that I could fly through them 
in my Corvair at about 75 and he wouldn't have a chance given his 
truck's high center of gravity, his knobby tires, and his impaired 
skills.  It was a perfect setup since the only thing on the side of the 
curves is a wide open corn field.  Even though he was annoying me, I 
didn't want to see the dummy kill himself.

I drove as fast as I felt safe -- around 75 -- and I watched him in my 
rear view the whole time.  I can tell you it was one of the pleasures of 
my life to see this guy come to the realization that there was no way he 
was going to make it through the curves.  It was dark, so I couldn't see 
the look on his face, but the rapid deceleration of his truck told me 
that he must have jumped on the brakes with both feet.  I made some 
laugh all alone in my car that probably came out like 
"Mmmmm-bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha."

The point in the road where it drops down from 4 lanes to 2 was only 
about a half mile away and I knew I had to beat him to the punch because 
I really didn't want him to get back in front of me.  I sped up to 75 
again and kept my eyes glued to the rear-view mirror.  Sure enough, he 
figured out the same thing and started coming after me ... hard.

Just before the lane drop, the speed limit goes from 50 to 30 and 
there's a sharpish curve, so I shifted my focus from the mirror and 
looked forward again to make sure I didn't mess up the curve.

I will never forget the image of the police cruiser parked in the 
median, facing towards me, and the near simultaneous scream my radar 
detector made as the cop turned on the pulse.  With my high-beams 
illuminating the whole scene, I could see the cop's face, features, and 
two hands on his radar gun with about the same clarity and detail as I 
can see on my own face in my shaving mirror.  He had me absolutely cold.

After I flew by him, I took an immediate left and pulled into a church 
parking lot, turned off the car, ripped down the radar detector, and 
waited.  The cop didn't even have a chance to put on his lights before I 
had stopped.  He just pulled up behind me in the parking lot with his 
spotlight on me.  The b*stard in the Toyota pickup drove by with his 
left hand out the window clearly "wishing me his best".  I'm sure the 
drunken b*stard is on some other online forum to this very day telling 
his version of the same story.  The b*stard probably leaves out the part 
about getting smoked in the S-curves.

Anway, the cop walked up to my window and said, "Do you know how fast 
you were going?"  I knew I was dead meat, and I didn't want to insult 
him by lying, so I replied "I was going too fast.  Probably around 70."  
He looked at me and said "73."  He then asked for my license and 
registration.

When he came back to the car, he asked "Why are you in such a rush?"  I 
said, "I went from work straight to the emergency room for my mother who 
fell and now I'm tired and I just want to get home." The guy stared at 
me for a moment, then he straightened himself up, took a deep breath, 
and looked out over the river that runs behind the church.  I could 
almost feel his relief that he hadn't pulled over some lousy, 
irresponsible drunk who was driving too fast.  He bent down to my window 
and said.  "Please just go home.  You've only got a few miles to go.  
You don't need to drive that fast."  I thanked him profusely and with as 
much dignity and respect as I could muster.

I didn't see the pickup the rest of the way home, which is probably just 
as well.

So, unlike many of you guys who used to leave hopped up Mustangs in your 
dust (or pasted to the guardrail) on a routine basis during the muscle 
car era, I got to do it in my Corvair only once about 8 years ago.  I 
won, but I also almost dearly paid for it.

Steven "but, still, I'd say it was worth it" Serenska