The Day Things Went Wrong
The car jumped over the curb, I felt myself lifting out of the seat. Smash! The unibody frame of my old mustang struck the cement. Pain shot through my shoulder and back as I fell against the hard metal door. Not knowing which obstacle to worry about, the 20 foot canal or the wooden telephone pole. Everything happened so quickly; I hardly remember what ran through my mind during the short crisis. Pole, Pole, Pole, POLE, POLE! I screamed in my head as the telephone pole came closer…
I had just gotten out of a long day at high school. During my auto tech class I had tuned up the carburetor in my 1965 Mustang. Holley was her name, and she was running great. I couldn’t wait to get Holley on the road. I saw her from across the parking lot. She sat alone, as if she was to good to be seen with other common cars. Holley looked great from every angle, she definitely stood out. Strolling across the long parking lot, I took in every aspect of her beauty.
Arriving at Holley’s side I took a short time to examine her. Squatting, I wiped some dust off the Cragar SS wheels that adorned her axels. I had spent three years working on her. The entire body reflected like a mirror. The deep green, metallic paint shown magnificently on the warm sunny afternoon. Resting my left palm on the hood, and reaching into the grill I searched for the leaver to crack open the hood. The tension springs growned under the preasure of the heavy metal cover. The air filter was always the first thing to catch my eyes. Holley displayed a vibrant red filter sandwiched between two chrome plates, which was the trademark look of a true K&N Filter. This massive shinny circle covered a quarter of the motor, but barely visible beneath sat the Carburetor. An Edelbrock, 600 cfm with four barrels. It was an amazing combination of brass, stainless steal, and polished aluminum. Thanks to this Holley consumed a lot of gas, and she was worth it. Shifting my vision down, my eye rested on the high-rise intake manifold. It acted like an ambassador. It ensured everything went smoothly between the carburetor and the engine’s heads. The large metal compartment was flat black. This dole color forced your eye to the bright blue paint that covered the entire engine block, which included the heads. Satisfied with what I’d seen I gently pulled down on the hood. CLICK! I knew the latch was securely in place, and she was ready to drive.
Inserting the warn key into the locked door, I smiled shaking my head. In order to get the door unlocked I had to hold the lock mechanism and raddle the key back and forth or it would never unlock. Swinging the door open I gingerly sat my self on the black vinyl seats. It felt good. Enough support to make them confortable, but worn enough to mold to my body. I felt like a king seated on his throne. I sat and looked out over the kingdom, the roads’ where calm, and my subjects walked around preforming their menial tasks. On occasion I would catch one staring, in admiration, at my royal chariot.
Pushing the key into the ignition. Checking that every thing was in its right place. The choke was in its right position. I pumped the gas petal. I heard the gas shoot into the carburetor, the wonderful aroma of gas filled the cabin, and rushed into my nostrils. I turned the ignition over, and the starter growled. The engine roared to life. I sat listing to her idle. The powerful motor caused holly to lope. That is, she rocked back and forth in harmony with the revolutions of the engine. Like being rocked in mother’s arms, I felt instant comfort. Holly was always good to me. Occasionally, I revved the engine to hear an explosion of sound from the exhaust pipes. Pulling the gearshift into drive, I headed for the exit of the parking lot. Stomping on the gas I tore out of the lot, leaving a trail of rubber across the three lanes of traffic. All my thoughts disappeared, and my only focus was on Holley. The sound of the engine, the tires rolling on the asphalt, and the feeling of cruising down the street.
Coming to a red light I stopped, and rolled down the window. The warmth from the sun felt great on my forearm, as it lay slung out the window. There was a large canal to the right of me. To the left, a large commercial building sat crammed tightly into spaces that seemed too small. It was 3:43 in the afternoon; I was surprised to find myself alone on the street.
“Man,” I thought, “this is a really long light.” I became egger to drive again. To my surprise, a fellow classmate pulled up beside me. It was Jordan. He was a tall, skinny kid. His black hair was pressed down against his head, it looked like a helmet. He must have used tons of gel to get it to stay like that. His skin was fair, especially in the sunlight. There was a look of excitement in his eye. I knew the look, he wanted to race.
For several months racing challenges came to me from various people, including him. I couldn’t blame them, they wanted to dethrone and humiliate me. Holley was cool and fast. They all knew it. Generally I tried to avoid racing, at least within the city limits. Having received a pair of speeding tickets, in months past, I did not wish to receive another.
Jordan turned to me and cried out, “Hey, how ‘bout now, you up for racing?”
I thought to myself, “Why not there is no one around and I just tuned up my car.” “Ok”, I yelled, “if you really want to.” The truth was I didn’t care. I knew I had a fast car and I didn’t need to prove it to anyone. He set the rules, first one to 65 MPH.
“Fair enough,” I said, “lets go.”
I figured I would have no problem winning. He was driving a mid 90’s Dodge Shadow, it may have been turbo charged but the Shadow only had four cylinders. It was a small two-door sedan. The Primer black paint made the car blend in to the pavement. The word Shadow was painted in a smoky blur along the doors. Compared to my beautiful Holley Jordan’s Dodge Shadow was nothing. The Mustang’s eight cylinders provided a lot of low-end torque. I had changed out the gears in the differential, thanks to that I shot off the line. I placed my left foot down on the brake. With my right foot I pressed on the gas increasing the pressure slowly. The maneuver is called Power Braking; it allows one to increase the RPMs and the power output of the engine to achieve a better launch off the starting line. Despite no reward for the victor, the challenge felt like an automotive duel among gentlemen.
Using the power braking technique, I waited for the light to turn green. The seconds seemed like minutes. I excitedly awaited the green light. Then, like an explosion the light turned. Adrenaline surged through my body. I felt like a general in the royal army, rushing into battle.
I slammed the gas down, and released the brakes. Holley flew off the starting line. Her 12-inch tires burned as they struggled to grab the road. Glancing in the rear view mirror all I could see was a dark plume of smoke. The back tires spun freely on the pavement, and caused the back end to cock slightly off center. My grip on the steering wheel increased firmly. I felt my nails digging into my palms. As soon as Holley gained full traction she straitened out on the road. I caught a glimpse of Holley’s tire marks. They were 25 feet long, and two black lines stained the bright white paint marking the crosswalk. Passing through the intersection the speedometer read 30 MPH. I glanced over at my opponent to find that Holley was a half car length ahead of him. I love this! I thought. As the speedometer reached 35 MPH, I braced myself. Due to the modifications that I made to the transmission, every time I changed gears Holley jumped forward gaining five MPH.
Second gear slammed me back in my seat. Struggling, I pulled my self-forward using the steering wheel. Quickly composing myself, I checked for Jordan. Holley had left him in her dust. She was easily four car lengths ahead of him, and already doing 55 MPH. “YES!” I yelled aloud, “I won!”
I almost crapped my pants when I saw the next stoplight turn yellow. Running the red light would have been a better choice. In my 17-year-old mind, however, I needed to stop. Pushing on the brakes a little too hard made the 40-year-old brake system lock up. Still moving forward, the tires squealed, and the car began rotating clockwise. Now perpendicular to the road, the curb inched closer. Death seemed imminent.
I am going to die! I thought.
Holley was going to crash, and all I could do was sit and experience it. When I didn’t flip from jumping over the curb, my eyes snapped to the canal. It was big, wide, and long. Holley would have crashed down ten feet, and then buried by a wall of water. How could this get worst? I thought. It did. My eyes darted outside the driver’s side window. Then I saw it. The pole. I was headed right for it. This left me unprotected so I braced for impact. At the last moment, before Holley became scrap metal an invisible force stopped Holley dead in her tracks. I shook violently, franticly looking in all directions, expecting to see my guardian angel winking at me. In total shock I sat, staring over the hood of my car. I then canvased my surroundings slowly. The heat waves from my engine blurred the house that sat across the canal. Composing myself, I looked out the driver side window to see the pole. Six inches… six inches stood between the pole and I.
“Holy crap man!” I heard off in the distance, “Are you ok?” I jerked my head around to see Jordan sprinting toward me. Pounding on my window again asking if I was okay. Awoken from my trance I answered, “yeah I’m cool.” Slowly I backed out onto the street, my head still racing. Jordan yelled out at me, “You’re crazy, you should have run the light!”
“I know, I wasn’t thinking.” I cried in disbelief. I still knew I had the fastest car, but I was still shaking from my near death experience. “At least I won.” I said smugly, and drove off.
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