These past few days have taken me back to my old stomping grounds, Toledo, Ohio. Growing up in Adrian, we used to make frequent jaunts down to Toledo, as it was only about a 30 minute commute...if you drove the speed limit. :)
Back then, driving the speed limit was something I seldom did, nor did most of my friends. In fact, during my recent application to a local law enforcement agency, they inquired about my past driving record. While my current record is squeaky clean, I admitted that back in the day I had racked up a fair share of tickets, always for speeding.
It's amazing that most of us seldom got caught for our stupidity back then. Aside from one time for me, which the officer who pulled me over said "I was going 65 mph trying to catch you, and you were pulling away fast." Little did he know, I had a gear to go yet. He checked the car out thoroughly, as I later found out he was a big time gearhead, and even though was left with a 15 mph ticket, I knew he wasn't fibbing when he pleaded that he could haul me to jail and tow my car for that little stunt.
These past days, I came across several of the old country roads in which I used to travel on my way to Toledo. Travel we did, as you could go for miles without passing a house, and intersection, or even another car. It was upon those very back roads in which I rid myself of all fears from going fast. Those back roads were where I first hit the fuel shutoff in my first car. Let me tell you, when cruising along at three digit speeds and your fuel pump shuts off, first thing that came to mind was "OH MY GOD, I BLEW MY ENGINE!" Those worries soon fade as the pump kicks back on and you resume speed, though I was still left wondering "What the hell was that all about?" Even an aftermarket computer chip didn't omit the fuel shut off, as I found out. Seems you have to sign a waver in order for the company to program it out.
Those back roads where home to many burnouts, leaving your mark on roads traveled. Often, you'd run across the marks from one doing a reverse to drive slam, which is enough to make a person cringe, with deep regards to the short life that transmission will have. These were also the roads in which I perfected the power drift, a fad now amongst the front wheel drive crowd that utilizes an emergency brake. Back then, we drifted with V8 rear wheel drive cars, with only power and momentum as our friends. The emergency brake was reserved for pulling donuts in the winter, or sliding on wet pavement.
The last few days took me through small towns, where nothing much remained aside from old Inns or perhaps a party store amonst the abandoned buildings. Little villages were scattered along the way, though few survived the years to warrant the "historic" label. Crumbling barns, wide open fields, and roads as flat as the eye could see. It's no wonder we'd use these paths as high speed transit to Toledo, it was always so inviting. I believe my quickest time into my chosen spot in Sylvania, Ohio was something like 17 minutes, on an otherwise legal 30 minute commute, you do the math.
