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Road Trip

The car sat in the apartment parking lot. The huge, white mass of metal only cost $300. I did put a new carb on it, but the Ninety Eight was pretty clean and ran well otherwise. And it had the racing 455 in it. I don’t think that old hippie I bought it off of knew that. One of my friends had put an old guitar pick on a string and hung it from the rear view mirror. I thought that was a nice touch, since I was learning how to play. And now, I was going on my first solo road trip with my first car.

It was 6:00 AM and the traffic was as light as my mood. First stop: Tybee Island. The beach awaited me with its lovely ladies and good clubs. Slowing down for road construction, I wonder why freeways never got finished. Finally, I am on 75 south and picking up speed. Macon appears and disappears quickly as I transition on to 16. Now let’s see what this car can do.

Turning out onto Holcomb Bridge, the anticipation of the open road and the celebration of my mis-spent youth awaited me. The exits slip away. Sgoda Road. Dry Branch. Cochran. Dublin. The last State Patrol post for the next 100 miles comes up on the right. Yep. Now is the time. The Olds slowly picks up speed. It isn’t a drag car, but it seemed to accelerate forever. Looking down, I’ve buried the spedo. The Malibu never got up this high. I decide to test that with a flying mile.

Passing post 56, I begin counting. One, one thousand. Two, one thousand…

I figure I am doing about 115. The car is a handful. The shocks on this tub were pretty worn out and the front end bobbed like a porpoise. I didn’t care. I was nineteen and as immortal as Lazarus. I could handle anything the car could throw at me. I had brought a ham sandwich with me to eat along the way. Quite a feeling chomping away while pecan groves and onion fields flash by.

In what seems a too short of time, the 95 interchange comes into view. I ease the car down. The exit to my Uncle’s house is coming up. I was happy. Everything was running good.

Blue lights filled the rear view mirror.

Oh, crap. I pull over. The State Patrolman unfolded himself out of the slicktop and strode towards the car. I make sure my hands are visible as I sweat hard in the South Georgia sun.

“Son. I need to see your license and proof of insurance.”

“Yes, Sir.” I give him the documents.

“Did you know you were going 76 in a 55 mile per hour zone, Son?”

“Oh, no Sir. I must have not been paying attention.” I take a very deep breath.

“I will have to write you a citation.” He said.

“That is fine, Sir.” Inwardly, I thank God this wasn’t 20 miles up the road. I would be in the back of that cruiser.

“Here you go. Sign here and please slow down. I just cleaned up a wreck with kid about your age yesterday. “

I sign the ticket. He gets back into the slicktop and disappears off the next exit. This is going to be one hell of a trip.

Published by anothergovernmentemployeehotmailcom

So, I'm late putting up a profile. Sue me. I'm an ex-government drone making his way in the world.

3 thoughts on “Road Trip

      1. The last one, they dummy was on his motorcycle and flew past a truck weigh station. He saw the officer pull out and he just went ahead and pulled over. All I could do was shake my head.

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