Note: A preview of my upcoming autobiography, Life’s Too Short to Smoke Cheap Cigars (Or to Drink Cheap Whiskey.)
Cars
Most of my youth was spent around trucks and truck people. I’m a truck guy to this day. While the inestimable Rojito will be staying here in Colorado in the care of loyal sidekick Rat after our upcoming move, I will be looking for (probably) an F-350 Diesel for the various things I’ll need a truck for in the Great Land.
In northeast Iowa farm country, in fact through most of the state in the Seventies, pickup trucks were more common than cars. They were more useful for plenty of folks, they were the cool vehicle for young fellas to have, and in the words of country music icon Joe Diffie, there’s just something women like about a pickup man.
But my first couple of vehicles were cars, not trucks, and the Seventies was also the time of growling big-block V-8s. It was the time of the Muscle Car, and Allamakee County was not excluded from this trend.
And, of course, the ultimate challenge for one’s car was to see how many other cars you could outrun. A guy with a fast car gained stature. Stature led to other things – like (hopefully) impressing girls.
The Strip
About two hours south of Allamakee County lay the small cities of Waterloo and Cedar Falls, and through those towns ran the six-lane University Avenue. That throughway had ample stoplights and roadside parking areas, making it a place teenagers from miles around would come to go cruising. There, guys from all over northeastern Iowa would congregate on Friday and Saturday nights to show off our Detroit iron and test our appeal to the local girls. In those days five bucks would buy most of a tank of gas, which we stretched by parking in the various lots along the Strip and shooting the breeze, usually with hoods open and cold beers in hands.
Those trips to what we thought of as a considerable city (that was well before I saw such places as Boston, New York, Tokyo, and Shanghai) didn’t always work out as planned. We had our plans for those evenings, but the local cops had their own plans.
Our plans frequently involved a little informal racing on University Avenue. The cops’ plans usually involved stopping us from a little informal racing.
On one such evening I was flying solo, driving my old ’66 Galaxie 500, the Iron Coyote. The old Ford didn’t look like much but had a pretty fair motor, a rebuilt 390GT that drove the heavy old beast along very well, as long as you didn’t try to take a corner too fast; the Coyote cornered like a bathtub.
Not my old Ford, but much the same.
I was sitting at a stoplight when the Firebird pulled up.
I looked over at the Pontiac, to see its driver looking back at me. He revved his engine a couple of times. I replied in like manner. We both looked up at the light. Ahead of us the Strip went up a small hill, bore left and straightened out for the run towards Cedar Falls.
The light turned green. We hit the gas, taking off in a cloud of white tire smoke and the roar of engines. We roared past a gas station on the right, and to my horror, a Waterloo cop was just walking out of the station, a pack of cigarettes in his hand. He crossed the parking lot in two long steps, jumped in his patrol car and came after us.
Seeing the flashing bubblegum machine on the cop car, the Firebird stopped. I hit the gas hard. The Waterloo PD used stock Ford LTDs and I figured I could outrun him.
But there was a complication. Ahead, the next light was red, and cars blocked all three lanes. There was only one way around; the turnoff to Highway 63 south was a left-hand turn at that intersection. The problem with that was that the light was green for oncoming traffic.
There was one gap in the oncoming traffic…
If you want to go really fast, try putting a V-8 in a Pinto.
I did my best impression of a NASCAR driver, putting the Galaxie into a 50-mph four-wheel drift through three lanes of oncoming traffic. Straightening out on 63, I hit the gas again, opening up the big Autolite four-barrel’s secondaries; the old car leaped ahead.
Behind me the police cruiser was slowed as he relied on lights and siren to clear a path, but I was headed for Hudson, passing a hundred as I shot down the darkened highway leaving town. I watched the police lights shrinking in my rear-view mirror until I hit a side road, killed my lights, and left the highway behind.
I took back roads around town and headed back home, thinking to myself that I wouldn’t bring the Iron Coyote to town again for a while, at least until the local yokels more or less forgot about it… which brings me to another event that happened just a couple of weeks later.
This One Time…
It’s not widely known, but my old buddy Dave and I hold the world’s land speed record for driving an automobile from the Decorah, Iowa city limits to the Waterloo, Iowa city limits. It all started on a bright, sunny Saturday summer afternoon.
Dave had recently bought a 1968 Mercury Cougar XR-7, white with a black vinyl top, a slick, lightweight car with a 302, a Holley 4-barrel carb and Hooker headers. It was a quick little thing, and that Saturday we were just leaving Decorah headed for Waterloo when Dave had an idea.
“Hey,” he said, “how long does it usually take you to get to Waterloo?”
“Hour and a half,” I replied. “Sometimes longer.” I had a heavy foot myself, and my old Ford’s 390 made it a three-figure runner on the highway.
“Think we can make it in an hour?”
“Well,” I said, thinking Dave was kidding, “we won’t know until we try.”
Dave grinned. We were just passing the Decorah city limits sign headed out of town. “Check your watch,” he said, and hit the gas. The Cougar roared. I looked at my watch: 12:01.
We broke the 100mph mark going up the big hill out of town. Dave kept the gas pedal on the floor as the road leveled out. Three cows, reaching through a fence for that famously greener grass, looked up wide-eyed as we went through a shallow-S-curve and shot away.
Ten miles down the road was Calmar, little more than a wide place in the road, but the highway came into town and made a right at a stop sign. We screeched to a stop, took the right, and roared off, leaving the wide-eyed townies in our wake.
The highway went straight through the little hamlets of Fort Atkinson, Jackson Junction and Lawler. So did we. But the real challenge came in the town where we had to hit highway 63 south towards Waterloo, in the medium-sized town of New Hampton.
Local legend told of that day for years afterwards, which on a quiet summer Saturday an apparition shot through town. It was white and black, the legend said, trailing tire smoke, the roar of turbo mufflers and the bass-fiddle thrum of a four-barrel carburetor pulling air. Firing through the center of town, the strange thing rounded the corner off old Highway 24 onto 63 southbound on two wheels, then flew out of sight, bound for Denver and Waterloo.
“We’re on the good highway now,” Dave shouted at me over the roar of the engine. “I can really step on it here.” Highway 63 had been resurfaced the year before and was wide, straight, smooth, and clean. Dave pushed the accelerator pedal to the floor and left it there.
I stole a peek at the Cougar’s speedometer. In those older cars, there was a phenomenon known as “burying the needle.” Not all cars could attain this goal, which involved attaining a speed higher than the speedometer could record, whence the speedometer needle left the dial and sank into the gauge.
Inside a 68 Cougar, with the speedometer in question.
Dave had the needle buried. “Roll up your window,” he shouted, turning the crank on the door on his side. “Bet we can get another five miles per hour without the drag.” I rolled up the window; the blast of air had been getting uncomfortable.
Denver was ahead – not the big Denver of Colorado renown but a dusty little cow town north of Waterloo, bisected by the highway. We shot through Denver, leaving the townspeople clasping their hands over their ears; the shockwave the Cougar trailed cracked several windows and knocked small children off their feet. With Denver behind us, the Waterloo city limits were only minutes away. I looked at my watch. “12:52,” I called to Dave.
We were going well over a hundred and twenty when we blew past the state trooper. The state policeman, seated in his cruiser with the radar gun out, watched us fly past; his eyes were big as saucers, his jaw dropped into his lap. Hitting lights and siren, he tore out of the farm driveway he had been watching from and came after us. Dave glanced in the rear-view and swore. “Dammit,” he said, “now we have to see if we can outrun a radio.”
We had forgotten about the four-way stop on the highway just north of Waterloo. The four-way stop, where Cedar Wapsi Road crossed the highway, was in a small depression with low visibility. Because of the poor visibility and the number of accidents that happened there, the intersection was known locally as Suicide Corners.
Dave still had the needle buried. We shot over a slight rise and were horrified to see the stop sign a quarter mile ahead, and a semi pulling a cattle trailer just entering the intersection from the right.
The trucker never saw us until Dave shot past, barely missing the front of his truck; we skidded a little and recovered, shedding a little speed but losing the highway patrolman, caught behind the semi, who has slammed on his brakes and stopped, blocking the intersection.
“Almost there,” Dave ground out through gritted teeth. He pushed down hard on the gas, regaining the speed we had lost at Suicide Corners. “Almost there…”
I saw the sign: “Waterloo City Limits.” As we flashed past, I checked my watch: “12:59 even! Fifty-eight minutes!”
Dave hit the brakes. I bounced off the dash as he brought us back down to the 55-mph speed limit. “Hang on,” he called, taking a right onto a side road. All of a sudden, we decided hanging around in town wasn’t the best idea, and so took side roads home.
A few months later I had occasion to ride down to Waterloo with the Old Man, who was in the habit of driving sedately along at the speed limit. I checked the time from city limits to city limits, Decorah to Waterloo: One hour, forty-nine minutes.
Dad noticed me checking my watch. “Keeping time?” he asked, “why?”
“Oh, no reason.” I never did tell him about the world record, although I suspect he heard about it from other quarters, as these things did tend to get around. As far as I was ever able to tell, nobody has broken that record to this day.
These Days
With age comes wisdom – supposedly.
Dave eventually sold his Cougar, but always regretted the sale. Decades later, after his retirement, Dave found another ‘68 XR-7, bought it, and had it restored to look just like the one he had owned back in the day. Instead of the small-block 302, he equipped this one with a 428 Super Cobra Jet and a 4-speed transmission. The fellow who helped him with the build criticized Dave’s decision to change out the motor, and also his use of a new electronic ignition, as well as other modernizations. “It would be worth more,” the guy told Dave, “if it were rebuilt as original.” Meanwhile the shop that built his engine was trying to sell him the last few upgrades to try to pull another 5-10 horses out of that 428.
Dave shut down the discussions. “I’m not building a race car,” he told them, “or a museum piece. I’m building a time machine.”
Not long after the Cougar was finished, Dave and I took it for a ride. It was a Sunday afternoon rather than a Saturday night, but for old time’s sake, we took the restored car out on University Avenue.
We were at a stoplight when the two teenagers pulled up. They were in a little Honda; the big round muffler protruding from the back made it sound like a lawnmower. Not understanding what the galloping rumble of a big-block V-8 signified, the driver ran up his motor a few times and grinned at the two gray-haired guys in the old car.
Dave looked at me. He smiled the old smile. The light turned green. He hit the gas. The Cougar leaped away from the light, and the Honda, in a cloud of tire smoke.
The time machine worked.
I didn’t even want to First today.
Great story. I grew up in Waterloo. And I hung out a bit on University avenue in my first car – a 69 Camaro. Probably around the same time you were there.
For me it would have been 1976 or so until, oh, probably 1981.
I got married in 76 and started a family immediately.
So, I was cruising the Ave a bit before you.
Great story/article, Animal. My first V-8 was a ’39 Ford 60 HP, which I promptly wrecked, after working all summer and saving up $85. It was a cheap but expensive learning lesson. Podunkville was more sitting in front of the closed restaurant, revving up engines. Chuckie always had a nicer car with Hollywoods so we could never emulate the same sound.
Reality eventually sets it. Kids are gonna be kids, even if the facts are different. Chuckie’s gone now, so’s the restaurant, few young kids left in town and video games have replaced the roar of the 390.
Thanks for reminding us of bygone days. At least we still have the memories.
Good luck in retirement and Alaska.
Always a good read, Animal, Thanks!
“I’m not building a race car,” he told them, “or a museum piece. I’m building a time machine.”
Respect.
Great story, Animal. I am too young to have enjoyed the 70s muscle cars, but I do remember those days of seeing how far I could push the car I owned against friends and rivals.
Gary is my buddy out in AZ, and it was his friend that had the collection.
Joe Diffie is underappreciated these days, I played many of his songs when I was a Classic Country DJ.
Come to think of it, most of my favorite country artists to play were mustachioed mullet guys…
Joe Diffie and under appreciated do not make sense. Oh, “these days”? Carry on.
Yeah, it seems now adays there were only like 10 country artists before ‘current year’…the same goes for classic rock as well. There is no need to play 3 Metallica songs and Foghat every 2hrs, but that’s what the playlist analytics say I guess.
Dad had a Ford T-bird, reflecting on it now that must have been his mid-life crisis car. It was not quick off the line, but give it a good rolling start and it could open up. We called it the cannonball – since once it was going it wanted to keep going.
We were at a stoplight when the two teenagers pulled up. They were in a little Honda; the big round muffler protruding from the back made it sound like a lawnmower.
Mrs. Dean was turning on to the highway going to the Catalina Mountains when three beat-up Japanese tuners pulled up next to her. The there are two turn lanes, which reduce to the single lane going to the mountains after about a quarter mile. So you want to get that quarter mile done first unless you want to be behind the other guy(s).
Mrs. Dean drives a lifted FJ Cruiser. Not the vehicle your tuner thinks is going to give him any crap, because you don’t see the “Supercharged” badge on the rear until too late. So, everybody turns, and Mrs. Dean drops the hammer.
They followed her after the lanes merged.
Asshole outs himself, as if he really needed outing.
Sounds like he’s talking about progressives, though I’m sure he thinks he is only referring to Xi and Putin.
I hate that I just gave that useless idiot another click.
Remember, no matter how detestable they are, they will find a cushy landing somewhere. The swamp always takes care of its own.
If we must ‘Marshall the Free World’, wouldn’t that first involve removing progressives and internationalists from positions of influence in our own society?
I’m going with 70% chance of inbred ivory- league moron, 30% chance of asshole.
Italy shows us how to be a divided nation.
Is Naples part of Italy?
/ducks
Great story as always Animal.
^ This.
My dad had a 71 ‘Cuda in his youth. When he was in his late 30s and I was a little kid, he bought a 72 Barracuda as a fixer-upper. His schedule never allowed him to work on it, so I think he had it less than a year. but I remember him taking me for a ride in it. He took it out in the country and punched it, and I slammed into the seat.
It’s funny, I thought this would have happened four years ago.
VETO!!
We can’t have that! What if the Nazis come back and invade Afghanistan!?!
They’d get stomped?
Honestly that was the part of Man in the High Castle that I just couldn’t swallow. If the US didn’t have enough soldiers to occpuy and pacifcy South Vietnam, how could a small and a tiny country try and hold the US?
Collaborators, nukes, and willingness to wage warfare without rules.
Surprise! They’ve been there since 2002.
https://www.dw.com/en/germanys-long-military-mission-in-afghanistan/a-54884893
If you want further proof that the establishment and the population have totally different priorities, look only at the insistence of keeping troops in Germany and South Korea. Meanwhile, somehow Vietnam recovered and can be a potential ally against China despite not being perpetually occupied by American troops.
Are the Vietnam fascists anti-Chinazi? I haven’t kept up on all that.
As far as I can tell. It’s mostly due to competing interests rather than differences of communist/fascist doctrine. There’s a number of islands in the South China Sea that the PRC has been building up which are at least as close to Vietnam as they are to China.
Vietnamese have little love for the Chinese.
First Chinese domination of Vietnam (111 BC–40 AD): Chinese imperial incursions
Second Chinese domination of Vietnam (43–544 AD):
Third Chinese domination of Vietnam (602–939 AD):.
Fourth Chinese domination of Vietnam (1407–1427 AD)
Mrs Fourscore carries a grudge a long time. She will admit to liking Chinese food but will not willingly or knowingly buy/use Chinese stuff. I tease her a lot since so much American sold goods are made by her enemies.
Well a good portion of the dishes you will find at a typical Chinese eatery were dishes that, after being modified to fit the American palate barely resemble the dishes of the, same name you’d get in China proper.
https://thediplomat.com/2020/05/will-vietnam-lease-cam-ranh-bay-to-the-united-states/
I think the Section 230 fight is wrongheaded, but for fuck’s sake a 4500 page defense bill that will spend close to a trillion dollars should be vetoed. The fight over base names is stupid, but it’s stupid both ways. “Oh noes, our precious snowflakes in the military will be traumatized by bases named after generals they’ve never heard of who fought a war their shitty schooling couldn’t explain to them”, cries Anthony Brown (D-Failed upward from the MD Lt. Governor’s office).
If Trump is actually out when the smoke clears on all the election lawsuits, I hope he starts his own political party. He could destroy the GOP within a couple of election cycles.
Ain’t no party like a MAGA party.
Won’t happen. The system is rigged to promote Coke vs Pepsi. Royal Crown and other are doomed in the marketplace.
A nontrivial section of Trump voters are what Emily Ekins called “disaffected”, they either had never voted before or didn’t care much about politics. The system thrives just as much on suppressing turnout and representation when they don’t like it as on boosting it when they do. The faction that Trump represents can take their ball and go home but the Republicans will just move leftward a la the Tories in the UK. A viable third party will struggle against institutional barriers and its supporters will give up and either check out or return to the fold. Otherwise, the wrong lizard might win.
A viable third party will struggle against institutional barriers and its supporters will give up and either check out or return to the fold.
This is the likely scenario, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a populist “third” party does enough damage to an existing major party to make it irrelevant/delegitimize it. Naturally, the other major party will feast for a couple of cycles on the opposition’s split voting, unless the new populist party does roughly equal damage to both major parties.
Realignments happen. We are overdue for one, I think. Trump and the persistent Swampublicans have shown there may be an alignment which is MAGA/populist v Uniparty/elitist, rather than Red v Blue.
This. And I think we have been in the middle of it for a good decade. For all that is happening on the right, there is an equal push on the left from the Bernie Bros. And for all that I hate their politics, a gotta say they are more honest than the Swamp Thing of either party.
say they are more honest than the Swamp Thing of either party.
Honest and horrifying aren’t a good combination, and god knows the Bernie Bros are that. I don’t find much attraction to the populist right either.
I’m reminded about the question in the Middle East when Mossad could clearly kill anyone they wanted to – why did they not kill Saddam, or Assad, etc. – the answer being they may have been better choices than the alternatives.
Both right and left populists arise when the established class can no longer be seen as a positive force.
Now, where one lands in regard to how best to fix this is the split in left/right populism. But when so many, no matter the politics, identify that there are serious structural issues in the nation, that established class has real problems. And it doesn’t matter if you find both to be distasteful.
Nature abhors a vacuum cleaner.
I disagree that either left or right populism will be the source of a good solution.
A better solution is the elite holding up their end of the bargain (which they haven’t in the last 30 years or more). Can that rebuilt? I hope so, because I have no faith in the others. I can’t imagine someone who understands either can think that those of us that love liberty stand a chance with either.
Take a hard look at what the putative “elites” of this country push for these days and then tell me there is any chance in hell that anything worthwhile will come from them.
True enough, it won’t be the elite as it has been – it will take some new form/collection of elite. I still hope that is possible. The shit from the True Believers won’t be better.
It’s been interesting/depressing to watch the “reasonable” GOP close ranks behind Biden. It’s coming out now that based on social media postings, the GA Secretary of State is a never trumper. It’s becoming more and more clear to me that this election isn’t about Red vs. Blue, but rather Trump vs. swamp. The scenario the professional GOP leeches desire most is to kick out Trump while retaining the Senate. Then the political class can go back to business as usual… which is of course lining their pockets with our money.
It’s become obvious, to me at least, that the Dems cheated with the approval of much of the GOP. At this point, I do not see any difference between the Romney/McCain/Bush GOP and the Democrats. They are two sides of the same party, the swamp party, that only care about power and fleecing us. It’s possible a populist arm through Trump can grab control of the GOP and shift its course. Or damage it to the point a new party can take hold.
No, it’s not libertarian, but it’s still immeasurably better than the one party system we have now.
So, you mean everyone but Rand Paul and Massey…
There will never be a party that wants to devolve power from DC. And most Americans are okay with that, as long as their party gets to be in charge some of the time.
I didn’t say there would be such a party. Even with the constant jockeying for grabbing more power, I would much prefer two parties who compete against each other than a single party system (e.g., Venezuela, Russia, Iran, China), where the single party can do as it pleases without the check of a competitor.
It’s clear now that we have a single party system in America and are headed down a very dark road.
The duopoly has been a single party (in comparison to parliamentary free for alls) for a long time. It’s a sign of the stability of our system and culture.
Not that that means it isn’t decadent.
Yes, I remember the days of hot cars, wrenching in the sun, keeping rust buckets running. Good times. But, we were in the eighties, so less V8’s and more four-bangers; 2002’s, Roadsters, a couple Wankles of various vintages, and so on. All fun and games, until a couple of us rolled cars we were too inexperienced to properly drive.
Yep. Same for me. Although I did have a 65 LeMans with the small block.
…a couple Wankles of various vintages…
Selling my 1984 GSL-SE is still the one that hurts the most.
Wrapping my father’s ’85 around a drainage ditch at 90+ was what hurt me the most.
But seriously, selling the motorcycle (’86 SRX 600) I had in the nineties will always be on my mind.
My college room-mate had an ’85 RX-7. I drove back from the bar one night, having just got over the flu, so no drinking for Bob.
While he was passed out in the passenger seat, I opened her up. The speedometer went up to 100 and was pointed at the first number in the odometer.
The hour- twenty minute drive down took 45 minutes coming back. The car felt like it was barely touching the road.
Using math from the tach, I figured I ran 124 MPH for about a 30 mile stretch.
We wer stationed in Tallahassee, FL in ’68 and ’69, My Dad bought a ’69 Roadrunner in Blue, His Friend Buzz bought the Yellow Superbee,
I was only 6, but I remember, country roads, no seatbelts and Dad Laughing his ass off, so we did too!
/Good Days,
I loved the Superbee. Absolutely outrageous vehicle.
There was a fellow in Tallahassee, back in the mid 1990s who drove a VW Thing, kitted up like a Kübelwagen with full Afrika Korps livery – except the swastika in the palm tree was replaced by the FSU Chief Osceola head logo.
Time for Christmas songs.
ziI thought it was a Jaguar dash at first.
I / 9
me type pretty one day
Wear this mask, or we’ll kill this granny
TW; Yahoo nooz
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has heard all the arguments about personal freedom, and the agency apparently doesn’t want to hear them any more.
“JUST WEAR THE MASK,” the CDC tweeted in all caps late Saturday. “Cover your mouth AND nose. Stay 6 feet from others. Wash your hands. Stay home if you can.”
The agency pointed to nationwide data over the last few weeks showing a sharp increase in cases, deaths and hospitalizations. Among the new cases, apparently, is Rudy Giuliani, lawyer for President Donald Trump. Trump, who has recovered from his own bout with the virus, shared the news by tweet Sunday, writing “Get better soon Rudy, we will carry on!!!”
Still, the troubling data has thus far failed to convince some public officials – among them Don Barnes, the Republican sheriff of Orange County, California – to enforce mandates issued by a growing number of governors.
“Policy makers must not penalize residents for earning a livelihood, safeguarding their mental health or enjoying our most cherished freedoms,” Barnes said in a statement.
The CDC’s tweet included a simple warning: “If we don’t act together and do what we can to slow the spread, thousands more could die.”
Thousand will die!
Luckily, nobody questions their credibility or authority. Their wish is your command.
Not disclosed:
The degree of compliance with masking and social distancing. Which would seem to be an important data point.
If your goal, of course, is to have an effective public health policy for dealing with the pandemic. If your goal is something else, well . . . .
Yeah, the CDC can go fuck themselves.
Don’t want to hear about freedom? Don’t give a shit.
Just wear the star!
+15 pieces of flair
Someday, I will find one of these much vaunted mask refuseniks but in practice they don’t exist. “JUST WEAR THE MASK” is communicating to a nominal audience that doesn’t actually exist. It is pure signaling to the IFLS types and bureaucrat worshippers that their god government is trying as hard as it can and if only they could get rid of Emmanuel Goldstein, all would be perfect.
I’ve had to wear the stupid fucking mask since April, every night at work. And given the nature of my work, I know they can know I’m not. Stupidest Fucking Year Ever.
They have done an impressive job of becoming less and less respectable as time goes on. “Stay home, wear a mask, social distance” gets a little old after about the 100th time you’re told to do it while watching everyone already do it. I guess the virus just didn’t get the memo that near-universal compliance with CDC guidelines was supposed to make it go away.
in practice they don’t exist
Come over to Boston to visit me. In the last seven days I had a dentist’s appointment, a haircut, shopped at CVS, several grocery stores, a liquor store. All of it without a mask. Most of it happened in or near Cambridge, MA.
I know people who won’t wear the mask technically exist (you came to mind, though we haven’t met). But they are statistically irrelevant. Not even 1%, at least where I live. If >99% compliance isn’t good enough, then one wonders what the fuck the point is. And the CDC’s tweets are going to convince practically 0 of the already practically 0 people who “need” to hear the message. It’s just a distraction from the failure of their policy to do anything except immiserate people. Everywhere you might go, practically everybody has already bought into the message and has for months, or at least they grudgingly comply like me. Unless the virus sits in judgment of how enthusiastic everyone’s mask mandate compliance is, I think we are well past the point of admitting defeat.
And even if there were some place out in the sticks where mask compliance is low, so fucking what? The sticks are not the hotspots. A bunch of refuseniks in Bumfuck aren’t causing the surge in metropolitan Maryland where everyone is complying like good sheep.
The whole point of the message is to build recognition of those that must bear the blame. Jeez bro – don’t you scapegoat? Without a ready to blame (((group))), you have to build one up!
Oh, I get this. Very well. The depth and degree of the buy-in is chilling. Michael Malice said something like, replace “Jews” with “coronavirus” and the behavior of people in 1930s Germany seems a lot more believable. Of course, the number of people who aggressively and belligerently refuse to understand the point (if he gets banned from Twitter, that’ll be why) only brings it into sharper focus.
The depth and degree of the buy-in is chilling.
As is the lack of awareness of just who it is that is following orders.
I’m in full agreement. The compliance indoors in public is 99.99%. I remember the shock of seeing one person (completely) without a mask in a grocery store in MA or CA for the first time in like six months. Back in the summer I could still observe some shoppers without a mask in NH but not lately, though I travel less to NH now.
I’m in suburban Richmond. The stores are fanatic about enforcing the mask. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen people in stores without one over the last 4-5 months.
I am in the ‘burbs of Richmond. The stores area all too good about mask enforcement so I do not go in them. Groceries are via Walmart app orders mostly. Some stuff I get on Amazon Fresh. The only* place I go in these days is this gas station / convenience store near my house that has all the signs and stuff but doesn’t actually care if people are masked up.
*That said I go into restaurants but I do not play the “mask for the few steps to your table” game. No one has said a word tom me about it.
Hi kbolino! Nice to meet you!
There are a pair of places I’ll cave for. But otherwise, no face diapers. Not at fucking all.
I know more than a few folks in NH that are defying the latest edict from the Clown Prince about masks.
“JUST WEAR THE MASK” is equivalent to “I’m the boss, that’s why.” And if you’re a boss that has to say that to get things done, you’re an incompetent hack.
“JUST WEAR THE MASK,” the CDC tweeted in all caps late Saturday. “Cover your mouth AND nose. Stay 6 feet from others. Wash your hands. Stay home if you can.”
Fear! Fear! Fear!
OBEY. THIS YOUR GOD. CONSUME. WATCH TV. DON’T QUESTION AUTHORITY.
https://www.etsy.com/listing/838288821/obey-face-mask?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=they+live+obey&ref=sr_gallery-1-10&frs=1&col=1
ps-
Dear CDC-
Just go fuck yourselves.
All this Ford stuff is making me nauseous.
My first car was ’65 New Yorker with a 413. Wouldn’t win any drag races but would easily bury the needle at 120 mph.
Parents had a Fiat Strada which did surprisingly well as a rally car on the twisty mountain roads.
Pontiac FTW.
’71 Firebird buried the needle at 160.
My 96 Pontiac Sunfire (4 cylinder 2.0 lt) buried the needle at 120…after 13 seconds…My current 09 6 cylinder Chevy Malibu also only goes up to 120, though being old and lazy I haven’t pushed it that far…
The Malibu probably has a speed governor in the ecu that cuts in around 115. I’m surprised the sunfire didn’t.
Obligatory.
Pontiac didn’t start incorporating governors until around 99, in the Firebirds, which mad them useless.
My old Prelude definitely didn’t have a governor. I didn’t usually go too fast, but I got that up to 130 once on I-65 in Alabama.
They make vehicles that can exceed their own speedometers?
/always driven Japanese cars
Back in California we had a Mitsubishi Diamante, we called it the Demon because it would cruise so smooth that you didn’t realize you were up to 80 or even 90 (and if you’ve ever driven the 805 in San Diego, that is the normal traffic speed even semi-congested). Anyway, on a Vegas run we decided to see what it would do top end – needle buried at 140 on I-15.
“…Mitsubishi Diamante…”
My boss had one of those. He let me borrow it one week. I remember having to check the speedo often. It also had a great sound system and really comfortable seats.
What happened to Mitsubishi? They seem to make only shitboxes now.
My sis had an Eclipse. That was a zippy bugger and fun to drive.
What happened to Mitsubishi? They seem to make only shitboxes now.
Major recalls, giving out credit too easily to buyers who defaulted, and most recently, lying about emissions, though by that time they had already mostly exited the U.S. market.
I once dated a young lady who drove a Mitsubishi GTO; 4 wheel drive + 4 wheel steering and a 5 speed manual made that thing a great deal of fun to fling around corners.
My dad used to work for them. They stopped caring about anything vehicular other than the Fuso trucks a long time ago. Even those are going to be exiting the market soon.
The closest I’ve gotten was a car I didn’t have: the Acura RSX Type-S (I had the base model) could get up to 145mph on a 160mph speedo (the base model had the same gauge limit but probably 20+mph lower top speed). Every car I’ve actually owned, the gauge limit exceeds the drag-limited top speed by at least 25 mph. My 15 WRX has a top speed of 155 mph but a gauge limit of 180mph. Maybe going downhill on a very smooth road with a tailwind I might get close to the gauge limit, but I doubt I could top it.
My first job out of college was as an editorial assistant for a publishing company that put out trade magazines, mostly automobile-related ones. Didn’t pay much but a perk of the job was that we got press cars to drive. I was low man on the totem pole so I would only get them for a day or so after everyone else took a turn. Many of them were ordinary – Chevy Impalas, Dodge Intrepids, etc – but sometimes they’d be something high end. That’s how I ended up driving home one night in a cherry red Jaguar XKR convertible. It had a supercharged V8, 370 horsepower, and it was smooth as silk on the highway. So smooth and quiet, in fact, that I had no idea that I was going 70 mph in a 45 zone. I used to take a bit of a circuitous route home from the Torrance office to my home in Long Beach by taking the 110 south to San Pedro and then going over the bridge onto Terminal Island and taking that into LB. There was very little traffic on Terminal Island and I wasn’t looking at the speedometer. So you can imagine my surprise when I got pulled over.
For extra fun, I still hadn’t replaced my Virginia license with a California license yet. The car had no registration, only a letter in the glovebox from Jaguar saying that Bobit Publishing was in legal possession of the vehicle, and I had no business cards with which to prove I worked there. I was a 23 year old kid who definitely did not look like he had the scratch to own a $70K car. So I got to sit on the curb for like 45 minutes while they tried to get ahold of my boss to verify that I had the car legally. After all that, I got to drive home with a $220 ticket.
The speedometer on the Subaru goees up to 160, so you’re porbably right.
KPH?
No, real units. 310hp, 3300lbs.
We had a little WRX hatchback in the early ’00s. What a little rocket that was. I would guess it could go well above 120 mph. 160 might be optimistic, but it was quick, nimble, a blast to drive
When I picked up Mrs. Dean’s AMG at the dealership (lease turnback, an excellent deal), I was bullshitting with the staff and one of them pulls out his phone. This was in Austin, right after they finished building a bunch of new freeways/tollways. The dealership had an AMG (don’t recall the model), and some of the staff decided to take it out for a spin. The ECUs had a 155 mph cutoff, which a little reprogramming did away with. They took it out on one of the new roads on a Sunday morning, and pretty much had it to themselves
The picture on his phone showed the speedometer at over 190 mph. What really impressed me, though, was it also showed the driver had three fingers on the steering wheel.
Heh. Reminds me of Brock Yates reviewing the Mercedes 450 SEL 6.9 by driving it down to Georgia and doing 40 laps at Road Atlanta.
It’s rumored that he did at least one lap with the sunroof open and the radio on…
3200lb 2 door vs 5000lb station wagon
I really liked driving my buddies ’69 Judge.
When I picked up my 15 Challenger from the dealer, the max speed display was already at 120mph.
Trying to figure out if Animal knew Iowahawk growing up or if they just passed in the night.
Have you ever seen the two of them in the same room together?
<— Can neither confirm nor deny.
I think we’ve lived a parallel at times Animal. I too have a couple of personal records.
One is too local to make any sense to anyone not from here. My other favorite one is a Bloomington IL start to checked into my hotel in Lincoln Park in Chicago. Under an hour.
The fastest I’ve ever driven is 90 on the speedometer. Way faster than I could ever run.
Was it dark and were you wearing sunglasses?
Imma go visit my super-secret gym.
I’ll leave you with an appropriate clip, inspired by Animal’s fine work.
Col stories Animal.
I used to have a ’73 Charger with a built 440.
I used to cruise a back road in 29Palms and when you would floor it from 80 it would suck you into the seat. It wasn’t too great off the line because the tranny sucked.
$20 bucks is $20 bucks…
As always, Animal brings in fantastic Monday coffee break reads.
Wife and I are starting our 10-15 year out planning on where we want to end up. I want Eastern Idaho/Montana/Wyoming, but she won’t drive her dog grooming business in the snow. I am okay with Kentucky, but not sure if she is.
We want some wooded areas near us, a creek or such near us and land. Not for me or her, but our kids and probably by then, grandkids to go screw off and enjoy it.
In high school I drove an ’88 Firebird. It was only a V6 but man was it a fun car. My only regret is that I didn’t get into any trouble with it. Recently a friend of mine had an ’89 for a few months. He took me for a ride and it brought back a lot of memories. If I had fun money lying around I’d buy one in a heartbeat.
I miss cruising.
Cruising culture survived where I grew up until the late 90s, early 00s.
I cruised a bit in my piece of shit first car in the early 90s. It would not have run any races.
When I saw mention of the Galaxie 500, I started up this song. I like Galaxies. One of my grandfathers had one.
A friend of my older brother (friend A) had a late 60s Cougar. It probably was a ’68 XR-7. I can’t remember. Friend A was slowly rebuilding it and improving a few things, like adding four wheel disc brakes. While it ran, it wasn’t ready for the road when I knew him. I don’t know Friend A ever finished it.
Another friend of my older brother (friend B) tried outrunning the radio. He failed. The story I heard was that after Friend B finished fixing up/souping up his pick-up, he was drinking in a bar and bragging about how the pick-up would outrun anything. An off-duty cop was drinking at the bar. The off-duty cop claimed his cruiser could beat the pick-up and said Friend B was too chicken to find out. Friend B, after receiving a promise that the off-duty cop wouldn’t bust him, met the off-duty cop, both quite drunk by the way, on a highway for a drag race.
When Friend B beat the pants off the off-duty cop, the off-duty cop called for back-up to pick up someone racing on the highway.
Friend B spent a few nights in jail for it. Friend B and my older brother always told me, “You can’t outrun the radio.”
Great song!!
Having worked on a small department I met plenty of shitheads like that. Cops that lie their ass off trying to entrap people into committing crimes.
If it is any consolation, those kinds of fuckers do it to their fellow cops just as fast as they do it to not-cops.
Good rule of thumb – If a cop’s mouth is moving assume they are lying.
See also: Beloved Glibertarian Lachowski getting the business from a uniformed dullard while trying to drive home after a long shift of building the world.
Didn’t even have to click the link to know it was the great Reverend. It’s his closer in concert, back when such things existed.
My story. Also on the back roads of Iowa. I was a student at the University of Iowa and didn’t really know the roads I was traveling. I had a Honda Accord. The speedometer went up to 140 and 20 year old one day was curious just how fast this thing could go. All I could see in both directions was flat road. SO, I gun it. Got up to about 115 mph when I saw the road drop away down a ravine towards a one lane bridge. Thank God there was on one coming the other way. I hit my breaks. The speed limit on the bridge was 5mph. By the time I got to it I was still traveling about 45 mph. Went the speed limit the rest of the way home.
Every time you write one of these Animal I think “This guy has been spying on me!”
Actually in my ‘adventure’ I was on a motorcycle. I passed a cop that I did not see coming over a hill, saw his lights come on and he started making a U-turn. I was probably doing 10 or so over the speed limit.
I cranked the handle, got out of his sight and took an off road trail through the woods. I knew every tree, trail and creek in the parish like the back of my hand. Other than a seat belt ticket about 15 years ago that is the sum total of my alleged criminal career.
You just reminded me of another story.
While saving for my first car I got my Grandmas 1984 Poop Brown Chrysler Le Baron with that foam top that looked a faux convertible top. Our high school football stadium parking lot overfill was a grass lot surrounded by a creek(more like a small drainage ditch). The only way out and in was over a single narrow bridge. Traffic was slow to get out at the end of a game and I just happened to notice a pile of dirt from nearby construction that was conveniently shaped like a car wide ramp. Managed to get out of the parking lot ahead of the traffic, who knows what damage I caused to the car.
Huh.
After having found the power cable to my 3DS and remembering why I even owned a mobile gaming device as a perrenial shut-in, I charged it, started it up and found that the only game I had for it was Pokemon.
I had also named my Gumshoos “Mr. President”.
This story also reminds me of Jimmy…..uh….I can’t remember his last name. Jimmy’s parents had money. For his 17th birthday they bought him one of these:
http://www.allmusclecars.com/projects/1977/dr77se10.JPG
His was red.
Livingston road, Rapides Parish, midnight a couple of months after he got the car he managed to get it up to an estimated 130+ mph, hit a small rise in the pavement and the car went airborne, flipped end to end mid-air and landed t-top down.
He was a good kid. Every body liked that guy, including me. They cancelled school for his funeral. His misguided, idiot parents should have just bought the coffin the same day that bought the car.
I haven’t thought about him in a long time but that was a lesson for me that led me years later to tell my son “Not a chance in hell” when he started asking about motorcycles and fast cars.
I am always a buzz-kill, aren’t I.