My fellow Bloggerette and former student Sweet Sarah wrote a glorious tribute last month to her first car, Blue Bird, which helped her to win the title Miss Hell on Wheels of Climax, Kansas about 10 years ago. This got me to thinking about my own teenage hot rod, except I didn't have one. Our family's 1958 silver and blue Pontiac station wagon failed to be designated as a pleasure mobile. Damn sorry luck I had.
Mooching rides from friends, therefore, became my prime mode of transportation. Fortunately, I had plenty of pals to mooch from for those late night freeze outs, flat tires, and Chinese fire drills. The wildest ride of all came compliments of a guy everyone called Windy--not because he was such a good trumpet player in the high school band, but because of his ability at telling far-fetched stories. He was a relentless talker and the fearless driver of an old turquoise and white Mercury.
My favorite Windy moment occurred during a country road cruise north of Fredonia one night when he whipped the Merc onto the railroad tracks. Now, his buddies had done this little stunt with him plenty of times, so they weren't alarmed. I, on the other hand, freaked out.
"You can't do this, Windy!!"
He just laughed and continued engineering his passengers into the unknown, no steering required. The car tires wrapped perfectly around the tracks, giving a smooth-as-silk ride.
"What if a train comes from the opposite direction?" I wailed, still in a panic. "What are you gonna do then?"
"Oh, I'll just steer off to the side."
"What if we're on a trellis and there is no side?"
"Guess I'll have to make a quick decision."
Gee, which would be better--slamming head-on into a train or careening down into a river? Windy assured me that there were no trains running at night, and the nearest trellis was in the opposite direction, so I calmed down and started enjoying the ride. It really was kinda neat, especially when Windy turned off the lights and laid into the horn, which sounded, and this is the truth, exactly like a train whistle. Totally awesome. And, best of all, the cops didn't catch us breaking the law.
Needless to say, I survived my first ride down the tracks and several more before we graduated from high school. Last time I drove by Windy's parents' country home, the old Merc could still be seen from the roadway, resting in the backyard, long out of service. I suspect Windy has made his parents keep it around as a shrine to his misguided youth, so he can periodically get behind the wheel and re-live his best moments. The person who came up with the saying, "Those were the days, my friend," surely had to have been inspired by someone just like ol' Windy.
3 comments:
I don't remember track driving as being a very smooth ride.
I have to ask where you get the cool graphics and how do you insert them at the beginning of each post?
By the way thanks for the help with my resume.
Wow those sound like wild times. I wonder what ol Windy is up to these days. But it is probably best not to know. The memories are safe that way.
For High Margin--the graphics I just get from various free clipart sits on the Internet. Before you get started writing on your blog, there is a little square icon at the top...I think it's the first one...it sort of looks like scenery...and that's what you click to upload. Before I do that, I save the clipart to one of my photo files and upload from that---Maybe Windy's tires just fit better onto the tracks than yours. His really made for a nice ride.
For Sweet Sarah--Windy has worked in the automotive field most of his adult life. No surprise there.
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