Chicken’s, Cuda’s and the Cold War - Another story from back in the day.....

[A34]

Since you guys were nice about the last story I posted on crushing the GT-37 in a race, thought I'd post this one. A little different, but cool. Again, I was looking for some files on my computer and stumbled across it. I wrote it years ago for my car club newsletter.

Chicken's, Cuda's and the Cold War

Having been into Mopars for some years now, I always get a kick when the "old timers" tell stories about owning and driving Mopars in the days they were new. I've heard some great stories, and I'm sure like fishing stories they get better with age. I got into Mopars when they were second hand used cars, and for the most part – cheap to buy. One day I may write a book about my own adventures. I may call it, "Cars I've Known and Loved", which is better than the other book I had planned to write - "Fat Chicks dig me". Especially, since my wife is nowhere near fat. That would just cause way too many questions.  Until then, I think I'll just tell stories. Here's one of my favorites. But, unlike a lot of stories, this really happened.

1983, a low period in American automotive history. Even in the car loving/shine running East Tennessee Mountains, people were actually considering gas mileage over performance. The horror! My own high school parking lot was filled with VW Rabbits and Omni's. Luckily, some time earlier in the fall I had fought off all insistence that I buy a Le CAR, and had talked my parents into letting me buy a 1969 Charger R/T SE, 440, 4spd., 80K mile original car. I had fallen deeply in love with this car in all it's F3 Green ugliness and slots with 3 bar spinner glory. Boy, can I tell stories about that car! But, that's not the car this story is about.   I had purchased the Charger at the start of my senior year in high school. I knew nothing about cars, and soon learned most people in my hometown knew even less when it came to Mopars. I drove this car my senior year and did such stupid things as 360's in front of the school. It was an accident - wet tires, full throttle, steering wheel turned too tight, you get the picture. Then there was the massive burnout in front of my house to prove my car's superiority to the local pickup truck club across the street. Unfortunately, this was not an accident. The police were called and it was not pretty. But, I actually survived and graduated.  

May 1983, I was going into the Army in a month or so to get money for college. In the mean time, I had determined that I wanted to restore my car when I returned from the Army. I knew I would need to improve my mechanical skills before starting on the Charger. So, I decided to buy another car to practice on. Enter the car this story is about.  

During this time in Dalton, Georgia there was a guy named Dale who sold Mopar and Ford cars and parts. I used to visit him a lot to see what he had. I saw my first Challenger T/A and Shaker Hood E-body there. I called him and found out he had purchased a '71 Cuda 340 and only wanted $450 dollars for it. Wow! That was perfect! A car to learn on. So, my best friend Jimmy,  and I, went to Dalton and inspected the car.

It was truly beautiful. Primered front end. No grill. Steel wheels up front and rallye's in the back with tires way too wide mounted on them. They bulged over the sides like slicks.   Well, actually they were slick. As a matter of fact, the cords were showing through. The Tor Red paint had faded to a faint pink with most of the Black billboard stripe still visible with rattle can touch-ups here and there on it. Surface rust everywhere. The decklid showed evidence of a AAR spoiler installed at some point. Carpet was gone, mustang bucket seats nailed to 2X4's and bolted to the floor had replaced the originals. The automatic shifter was one of those "find-a-gear" shifters that mount in the floor with no shift indicator. Originally the car was column shifted. Rally instrument cluster complete with uncracked dash pad! Under the hood, the original 340 still resided. Complete with open headers that had 1/4" plywood cutout for header gaskets (Did they seal? No, but with open headers who noticed?), Rochester quadrajet rigged to the intake so that only the primaries would open. It had the original 3.55 sure grip and rear factory sway bar still intact. What a jewel, and all mine for the paltry sum of $450.   I agreed to purchase it and would return the next day to pick up my new toy.  

Jimmy would only help me pick up the car if I let him drive it back. So, with that agreed upon we got in my father's 1974 Buick Electra 225 with a 455 and headed south. About 2 miles out of town and with an hour or so to go to Dalton, the exhaust system fell off my Dad's car from the exhaust manifolds back to the muffler. Yeah, it just fell off going down the highway and bounced off to the side of the road. Did we stop and pick it up? Did we go back and have it reinstalled? Are you kidding? We thought the car sounded cool with no exhaust. Ok, we were only 17. So, we roar down to Dalton to get the 'Cuda. Needless to say, my father instructed me in the error of my ways later. Oh Boy, did he ever instruct me! On a side note, he picked up the exhaust from the side of the road with a mechanic friend of his and reinstalled it.

[A34]

After picking the car up we got about 50 feet away from Dale's and it died. It refused to start. The starter had burned up, but Dale cheerfully picked the front of the car up with his wrecker and changed the starter out in the turn lane for no charge.   We were off again. However, the ignition switch was missing the collar and kept grounding out against the column causing the car to die. It did this several times on the way home. Every time it did it, Jimmy would start it up again in a belch of black smoke and open headered roar. He liked revving the engine with open headers, especially at stoplights. I found it amusing to join in with my Dad's open exhaust 455.   

So, the two of us traveled in our open exhaust cars back towards my hometown of Etowah, Tennessee. Everything went fine until we got on a particularly dangerous and curvy section of highway called Bowater road. Many people have died on this section of highway - but that didn't scare us. At this point the 'Cuda starts to go faster and slowly pulls away. Initially, I keep up. The speed limit for this road is 55, but at 100 mph, my Dad's car starts coming out of gear. Now I'm mad. Piece of crap car. It won't stay in gear at 100 mph and I have to reduce speed to 95 mph. So, as I'm sliding the big boat through the curves at 95 and listening to the tires squeal and the body moan and creak, the 'Cuda suddenly belches black smoke and walks away from me like I'm sitting still.   

I was bewildered as it pulled way, wondering how it could do that with only the primaries working? Did I mention the kick down linkage was missing? How about the brakes not working so great either? So, now I'm mad at the Buick for not being able to keep up and mad at Jimmy for driving my car like a maniac. Remember the slick tires with cords showing through, and the seats nailed to 2X4's? I was going to beat the daylights out of him if he wrecked my car before I got a chance to drive it.  Providing, he survived the crash of course.   

Well, some miles down the road I spotted a speck in the distance. I slowly closed the gap, coaxing the big boat to stay in gear at as high a speed as it could muster. 95-99 mph. I closed to within 30 feet or so. The 'Cuda was approaching the intersection of Highway 411. It seemed to be going to fast to stop. What was Jimmy doing? There was an old gas station from the 1920's at the intersection with a few old men sitting outside watching us. They were chewing tobacco and talking. The A/C was off and the windows were down on my Dad's car in order to squeeze out a few more horsepower. So, I heard one of them say, "He ain't gonna make it." Referencing Jimmy in the 'Cuda of course. He was right, Jimmy didn't make it. He slid right out into the  middle of 411 and the car died.  He jumped out of the car, arms flailing, yelling at me to help him push it out of the way before it was hit. I quickly pulled off the side of the road and ran over to him. Sure enough there was an 18-wheeler bearing down on us. This guy wasn't even slowing down. We scrambled and pushed the 'Cuda out of the way with a couple of moments to spare before the big rig sped by. We pushed the car into the old gas station.  The old men were laughing and telling us about the Model A's they used to own. Real nice guys. The owner let me leave the car there until I could return to pick it up. The starter had burned up again.   

On the way home in my Dad's car, I asked Jimmy how fast he had been going in the 'Cuda. The conversation went as follows:   

Me: Jimmy, how fast were you going in the 'Cuda? 

Jimmy:  I don't know if the speedometer is right and it was hard to see with all the chicken feathers flying around inside. I think it was used as a chicken coup at some point. How fast were you going? 

Me: Well, my Dad's car was coming out of gear at 100 mph. 

Jimmy: Like I said, I don't know if the speedometer is right, but it said 135. 

Me: What! Are you crazy? You know how slick those tires are, they could have burst at any moment and the seats are NAILED IN!! 
Jimmy: So.

Me: So, you could've wrecked my car and been killed in the process.

Jimmy: Yeah, but I didn't. Would this be a good time to tell you about the windshield fogging up from the freeze-out plugs coming out of the block?

Me: I can't believe you did that. 

Jimmy: I wanted to see how fast the car would go, and I was mad at you for doing 130 in your Charger with me in it. The first time I went those speeds, I wanted to be the one driving. Now we're even.

Me: You're crazy.   

Jimmy: So.


I returned the next day and pulled it home with a chain.   In the course of the next month I fiddled with it and drove it around some with the open headers. Somehow, Jimmy talked me into letting him drive the 'Cuda while I was away in the Army. The agreement was he would work on it and drive it in college and upon my return; I would pay him for any parts he had purchased. But, his labor would be free. Did that work out? No, those things never do. Besides, you ever see a college student with money? One time he removed the front clip, doors, decklid, and drove the car down his neighborhood street. Stomping the gas to see what it would do, in it's lightened state it took off with such force that he fell off the (newly modified) cinder block seat. Luckily, no one was hurt. Don't get me started about the time he sanded it to bare metal and left it outside for a couple of months.   

Eventually, I returned from the Army and semi-restored the car. I traded it for a nice original 383 automatic '70 Roadrunner. I really had a blast with that car! But, that's another story too.  Jimmy and I lost touch for many years as our lives took different directions. We got back in contact again a few years ago. He is still the same adventure crazed nut case he ever was, but in an older, wiser, form now. Age and scars will do that. Roughly a year after high school while I was off saving the free world from the Soviets, and he was drinking beer in college and listening to Rock Music, he purchased a 70 Challenger 340 that made it's own name on our local streets for it's Chevy eating adventures. Never being the conventional type, he painted it Panther Pink before Panther Pink was cool. Not only were the Chevy's beaten by a Mopar, but a Pink one !  Oh, the HUMANITY ! Succumbing to a lack of funds, or was it bad grades? Or both? Heck, I don't remember, it's been too many beers ago. Anyway, he left college and joined me in the fight to defeat communism known as the "Cold War".  I was in Germany on tanks and he was in Washington State on refueling aircraft. We both felt the "cold" in the "Cold War".


Bald tires, seats nailed to 2X4's, chicken feathers flying around inside the car, 135 mph. I still laugh about that. We must have a team of Guardian Angels looking out for us. I also still think about that  'Cuda. Like all the Mopars I've had, I wish I had it back. I found it again in the early 90's. It was sitting in a pile of weeds. The 340 had been replaced with a 440 shortly after I sold it, and it had taken on a short-lived life of street racing.  It was quite successful. By the time I found it again, the guy who owned it wanted around $5000 and it was in really rough shape. I passed on it, but sometimes I wonder.....

One thing I never wonder about is, MOPAR OR NO CAR!!   

[69bronzeT5]

Great story! Is there car still sitting in the weeds or is it gone?

[teamroth]

Love it! Write well bro. I look forward to the next installment.

[chargergirl]

Brings back driving the Pali (cliff) hwy on Maui in my $300 Challenger. Stomp the gas too hard and she'd gag and dump ya'...but if you hit it just right...man could she fly! Never drive faster than your Guardian Angels can fly!

[A34]

Great story! Is there car still sitting in the weeds or is it gone?

Long gone, that was mid-90's ish If I recall correctly. Probably a beer can now, or some over restored big dollar car. Wish I'd kept the registration to try and track it down. A buddy of mine bought the original 340 from it when the 440 went in. I'd buy it back now regardless of price just due to the sentimental value. 

[A34]

Love it! Write well bro. I look forward to the next installment.

Thanks man ! 

[Magnumcharger]

Keep writing!
You've got "it"!

[tan top]

great wright  up  ,another awesome story    love reading stuff like this  , thanks for taking the time & sharing 
would love to hear more storys some time Dude     

[PocketThunder]

Great story! Is there car still sitting in the weeds or is it gone?

Long gone, that was mid-90's ish If I recall correctly. Probably a beer can now, or some over restored big dollar car. Wish I'd kept the registration to try and track it down. A buddy of mine bought the original 340 from it when the 440 went in. I'd buy it back now regardless of price just due to the sentimental value. 

Cant you get the vin number off that 340 block and start tracking the car with the vin?

Great story!  I also have done 3 digits (125) in an old mopar (68 Charger) with bald bias ply tires,  not a good idea, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.   

[A34]

 

Cant you get the vin number off that 340 block and start tracking the car with the vin?

Great story!  I also have done 3 digits (125) in an old mopar (68 Charger) with bald bias ply tires,  not a good idea, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.   

Great idea !!! I emailed my buddy tonight who has it. Where could I trace it at? Isn't that private these days?

[PocketThunder]

Cant you get the vin number off that 340 block and start tracking the car with the vin?

Great story!  I also have done 3 digits (125) in an old mopar (68 Charger) with bald bias ply tires,  not a good idea, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.   

Great idea !!! I emailed my buddy tonight who has it. Where could I trace it at? Isn't that private these days?

Yes it probably is, but if you walk into the DMV in your state and be real nice to the people they might do a search for you if you pay a fee.  I think it was $60 here in Minnesota at one time. 

[The70RT]

I Kansas I went to the DMV and did a title search. Gave them the vin and got the last owners address. It was like 10-15 bucks but that was several years ago.

[chargergirl]

Feathers... :smilielol:That's just awesome! Turned the car into a chicken coup...man remember big fight with friends grandparents at the lake...he gave away her pet alligator, she kept it in the wash machine out back, while she was at her sisters...so she turned his boat into a chicken coup...that fight lasted for years.

[A34]

Well, I guess 3 years is kinda long for the next installment, but what the heck. Here it is, I call it "Rebel without a Clue"

Spring/Summer 1986

While on hiatus after my first semester in college, I moved back to my hometown and got a job at Goody's Warehouse.  Goody's, at that time, in my personal opinion, was a horrible place to work. They locked you in the warehouse with no windows and you worked 12-16 hours a day for 6 days a week for minimum wage ($3.35/hr.). For a young guy, the work was physically demanding, but not too bad. You slept well, when you got home.  That, in and of itself, wasn't the bad part. The bad part was the managers with very poor attitudes who would fire you at the drop of a hat and spoke to you like you were a mangy dog. It just made the working environment that much worse.

As bad as it was, it was the only place that due to all the overtime worked, paid a survivable wage. You were on overtime typically by Wednesday. East Tennessee was, and still is, economically depressed. It might be a little better now, but not much. I moved from Red Food where I bagged groceries for $3.35/hr plus tips to this job and thought it was a big improvement. Bagging groceries wasn't a hard job, but with a wife and baby on the way, it just didn't pay the bills. Overtime by Wednesday would help pay some bills.

So, this entire backdrop is to set the stage for subsequent events. I can't remember the exact details now, but Goody's got some kind of tax credit for hiring people who were economically "challenged". They wanted to see if I qualified for that program. They asked me to report to the state employment office to answer some questions. All of this, of course, off the clock and before my shift. Well, near as I can remember, I was late for this appointment and was afraid I would be fired. I think combined with working 12+ hours the night before and the wife insisting I eat a healthy breakfast, I just didn't get out the door on time.

At the time my daily driver was a 69 Charger R/T SE, 440, 4spd car. The 3.54 Dana had been replaced with a 3.91 8 ¾ long before I got it. Great for acceleration, not great for cheap daily commuting.  So, I fired that beast up and hit the road. I'm cruising down Highway 30 towards Athens, TN. and get behind a line of cars going real slow. This was a problem on a 2 lane highway with very few places to pass. You know how that is, somebody can't pedal their plastic pile fast enough to do the speed limit and the person behind them doesn't have the guts to pass them. So, the cars back up until you have, in this case, about 6 cars all going slower than the speed limit. Well, here I come around the curve, hauling butt in this big Green Charger. In a hurry and anxious that I'd be late and get fired.

So, as I come up behind this line of cars, I make a decision that only a bullet proof 21 year old can make. I see an opening and hit the GAS !  I pass six cars in a row. Did I worry about one of them pulling out to pass also? Nah. I went by them like a rocket and never looked back. I knocked the car out of gear. I was coasting, letting it slow back down when I passed a State Trooper coming the other way. I looked down and the speedo said 120mph.  Oh CRAP !  I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the blue lights. I thought, what have I got to loose, so I hit the gas again. I knew 120 in a 55 probably meant a big arse ticket and/or some jail time. I had a headstart and figured I could outrun the trooper. He had to turn around and catch me. So, as I wound that 440 up and began passing people, I looked at the fuel gauge. It showed empty. My heart sank. This was gonna be tough. I decided to take a side road and double back to my house. I saw a road up ahead, hit the brakes, downshifted and slid the car across the asphalt highway and onto the gravel road, throwing dirt and gravel everywhere. I remember seeing people in oncoming traffic pull off the road. I didn't realize at the time the amount of dirt the car must have thrown up. It left a calling card as to where I went. The trooper knew just where to go.



scroll down

[A34]

The road I went up wasn't one I was familiar with. So, I slowed down to try and figure out where I would turn. 120 on a dirt and gravel road is way more dangerous than on a asphalt road. Even I knew to take it a little slower. As I saw a road to my front left that looked like one to take, I noticed some blue lights in my rear view mirror. He was close at that point, probably had my license plate. So I decided to pull over. This was gonna get interesting.

As I got out of the car, the trooper had his gun pulled and was yelling at me to put my hands on the roof. I slowly put my hands on the roof. He came up and patted me down, then asked for my license. He asked where I was going in such a hurry, and why I was running from him. I said, I wasn't running from him, I was on my way to work and was late. To which he responded, "BS!", only he didn't use the letters. I said that I had pulled over the minute I saw his lights. Well, he said I was under arrest for reckless driving and to follow him to the jail. He had my license as he went back to his car, so that pretty much cinched it that I would follow him.

As we left the area, two county deputies, and I think, another trooper showed up. So, I had an escort to the jail. At the jail, I parked and as I walked in a few steps behind the trooper, I heard a Deputy call out to the trooper, "Well, will that car run?" The trooper said, "Hell yeah, and that boy can drive!".  Being the consummate smart arse, I walked in and said, "Will this hurt my application with the Sheriff's Dept.?" To which they replied, "No son, we've all been there before". (Side note – yes, I did have an application in the Sheriff's dept, but they never did call. So I guess it did hurt. Then again, I didn't know anybody on the force, and that small town stuff is real political).

So, the trooper says, I'm gonna write you in the jail, but as soon as you pay your ticket you can leave. I think it was $110. He said, next time, stop and take the $60 speeding ticket. At that point, I realized, he didn't have me on radar. He just knew I was speeding. As he left, one of the deputy's said, "You got caught by the best, boy. Trooper Cooter (name changed to protect the innocent), doesn't loose 'em and doesn't let 'em go." I just smiled as I thought to myself. He got lucky.  I guess at the end of the day, that doesn't matter, but I had the faster car and was the better driver. So, the other Deputy's asked me about my car and we talked for awhile. They let me call my Dad. So, I called him and asked him to swing by my house and get the money and come get me out of jail. He agreed, but let me sit there all day. Yep, about 8 hours of sitting outside the office on a bench watching people come in and out.  The visitor's to the jail, the good shepherd's coming to minister to the misguided. One elderly gentleman sat down beside me on the bench and showed me the pin he had for not missing Sunday school in 30+ years. He asked if I was a Christian and had been saved. When I answered, Yes, he was shocked. What was I doing here? Well, sometimes I get in a hurry. He failed to see the humor in that. He went on to minister to other folks and left me on the bench.

scroll down

[A34]

Another person that didn't see the humor in that was my father. He eventually came by and paid my ticket. He lectured me on being responsible and not driving like an idiot now that I had a family. I wish I could say that it made a difference. But, I wasn't that mature. He had let me sit there all day to teach me a lesson. I wish it had, but I had many more years of driving craziness in front of me. Afterall, I was 21, bulletproof, and a Rebel without a clue.


Story notes:

1)   Goody's is the company I worked for when my Charger was stolen. I still feel that if the facility had windows and we weren't locked in like criminals, there's a chance the thief's could have been caught in the act. I did my own investigation and found one of the thief's was a former employee. He ran off to FL and I was told could not be extradited for some reason that escapes me now.


2)   Well, I didn't make it to work that day or to the employment office, and they didn't fire me. I guess I did a good job there; they promoted me to an assistant supervisory role. I didn't have to do a lot of the hard labor. I supervised. No pay increase, just less physical work. I did bend the bumper on a new large delivery truck they had one night by accident. Oops! I didn't get to move the trucks around after that. No interest on their part about improving parking lot security or helping me find the guy who stole my car. They could care less. I remember one of the supervisors even making fun of the situation. He was later arrested on weapons violations, so I hope he's getting his just deserts in the pen somewhere. I have wished evil horrible things on the guy(s) who stole my car. I still do. It still hurts after all these years.

3)   Once while on lunch break I pulled out from the parking lot and hammered my car, just in time to notice a couple of County Deputies parked at the upper end of the parking lot chatting it up with some girls who worked in the office. As I slammed second gear, I could see them straining their necks to look at me. I knew what was gonna happen next, so I quickly pulled over and popped my hood. One of them came after me, lights and sirens blazing. I told him my throttle cable had stuck open and I had pulled over to fix it. I explained that I worked for Goody's (where he was just parked) and that I was leaving for lunch. I had seen him there and would not have executed such move purposely with him there.  He radioed down to have his buddy ask one of the girls if they knew me. Of course, they didn't. However, one of them did know my knucklehead brother-in-law who was with me. After using up all of my lunch break, they let me go without a ticket. I guess an empty belly is better than a ticket with large fine.  About 2 weeks later, my dumber than a box of rocks brother-in-law tried the same excuse. You see he had a 260Z that had either a 140 or 160 speedo in it, can't remember exactly. He said it would do that or they wouldn't put it on the speedo. I kept telling him that was marketing and it wouldn't do it. Additionally, his Sears no name brand tires would probably not make it to 160 before exploding. He didn't listen, he thought it was the Mach 5. One night while driving home, I said, "OK, show me what this bad boy can do. Show me 160".  So, he nails this thing and it struggles to 90. He pulls into a car lot and asks me what his gauges mean. He points to the oil pressure gauge and mentions something about it showing low. As I look at the gauges to determine what's going on, a County Deputy screams by our location and locks it up just past us. Knucklehead says, "Oh crap, he's seen us." Turns out, as we were making our blast up the highway, the Deputy passed us in the other direction. I was busy looking at the speedo to verify our actual speed, and didn't see him. I can't remember exactly what happened next or the logic espoused, but he pulled out of the car lot going in the direction we'd just come from and hammered the "Z". I remember we took the road behind our old High School, but can't remember why we did. We had a good lead on the Deputy. As we were going way too fast for this narrow 2 lane road, we went around a corner and he lost control. The car did a couple of 360's and we wound up pointing in the same direction as we had been going. By the Grace of God, we didn't hit either the trees/ditch on the left side or the embankment on the right side. However, knucklehead did loose his ball cap that flew out the window.  We left the ball cap in the road and took off again. He retrieved it later. Alas, it had given Deputy Enos enough time to catch up to us. Knucklehead couldn't shake the big fat Crown Vic and it kept on our tail. Hmm, guess that "Z" isn't as fast as he thought it was, Imagine that. As I remember, the car started overheating and I suggested he pull over and take the speeding ticket, or he could risk blowing the engine and really being out some cash. Knucklehead pulls over and immediately exits the vehicle jumping up and down screaming, "MY throttle stuck, my throttle stuck!" The Deputy got out of his car and had his weapon drawn and was yelling at Knucklehead to shut up and put his hands on the car. Both appeared equally scared and excited. Deputy Enos never saw me. If I was a bad guy, that would have been one dead deputy. I eased out of the car and put my hands on the roof. After several minutes of yelling at knucklehead, he calmed down and walked toward the car. Then the Deputy saw me and it scared the crap out of him. Lucky I didn't catch a bullet right there. Anyway, he approached and began the, "Boy, you better tell me what's going on or you're going to jail" interrogation. Knucklehead blathered about his throttle being stuck and not being able to stop. Then the Deputy looked at me and asked if I'd ever been to jail. Funny, I knew this guy. We graduated High School together. Guess he didn't recognize me, or he wouldn't have called me, "Son."  So, I played the game. "No, Deputy, I have not. What my brother-in-law says is true. He put some of that racing fuel in the tank (I think it was called Aztec Blue, we got from the local gas stop) and it must have caused his injectors to stick open. He couldn't stop and was scared. We got off the main highway to see if we could get it to quick hanging. I finally had him pull over as it was overheating. We didn't know you were chasing us until just a little while ago when you came up on our tail." He didn't believe me. I tried to act like I was fiddling with the engine as it was messed up. Anyway, backup arrived and they piled on Knucklehead. He got to go home, but not with a ticket. With a court summons. Oh yeah, they threw the book at him. He said the Deputy lied in court and said we exceeded 130mph (As I can remember), but we never broke 90, and it struggled to do that!  I'm not dogging 260z's, this car was just worn out.  Anyway, I think he got 48 hours in jail and about $2500 in fines. I was not ticketed. I did not tell my wife what happened. I knew she couldn't logically understand what happened and accept it. Instead it would all be my fault and I would be the demon spawn corrupting knucklehead. It would be a big fight and I would more than likely make it worse by saying insulting things. So, Later when she found out I was involved, she proved me right by throwing a big ole hissy fit and accusing me of corrupting knucklehead. Knucklehead was corrupt long before I came on the scene. I felt like I tried to help him by showing him the error of his ways. Snicker, snicker. Oh well, it was big fight, well actually, it was her yelling at me and me laughing. That really ticked her off. That and the fact I wasn't sorry, and said she was completely in the wrong, and explained why. I told you she wouldn't like what I said, and I was right. I'm glad to be rid of her and her whole messed up Jerry Springer like family. I still snicker when I think of this story.

[Ghoste]

Absolutely awesome!! 

[tan top]

   nother Awesome  installment   , thanks for sharing !!  your memorys !!  great stuff 

[Bob T]

Good yarn A34, had forgotton about the thread, keep the stories coming.

No deputies with guns here, but they do whack you with the nightstick if they got the chance. Well, maybe 20 years ago...

[A34]

Thanks fellas. I started writing these for my family to record the crazy things I did in my youth. My wife says I should write a book. If I were to publish one complete with pics from the day, is it something you think you would buy? Say in the $10-$15 range? Or do you think these aren't really good enough for mass consumption? It's ok to be brutally honest. I'm gonna continue to write them anyway for family history.


The pic below is a Shell station in my hometown that used to be Chevy Central. I would drive by and taunt them with power shifts, burnouts, pipes, etc. But they never came out to play. Too bad.

Thanks !

[PocketThunder]

Hell ya keep writing them!