Friday, March 28, 2008


Not sure why this came to mind, but pictured here is a mile or so of road that leads from U.S. 380 to (what at least used to be) Twin Hills beer store.

Back during my formative years, the ol' hometown was "dry", meaning it did not allow sales of intoxicating beverages. Actually, the entire county, though due to byzantine blue laws, beer and wine sales were allowed in the part of the county surrounding the lake (not pictured). In any event, a drive of about 20 minutes (in any direction) was required in order to procure beverages.

And needless to say, me and my buddies made many such trips, both before and after we were of legal drinking age. On one such run, after we had made our purchases, my friend and I drove away from the beer store heading back home. As we stopped at the stop sign (at the top left of the picture, pointing southwest), a couple of guys in a newish (late-80s) pickup truck quickly pulled up beside us and rolled down the window. The passenger said something like "nice car," in reference to my friend's twin-turbo 300zx. We both kind of nodded, and the guy says "wanna race?". My friend looked at him, looked over at me (you can't imagine the shit eating grin on my face), looked back at the guy and says "sure."

So the driver of the truck starts revving up his engine and glancing over at my buddy, who was just calmly sitting there with the gearshift in neutral, doing nothing. Finally the guy guns it and takes off. My buddy nonchalantly waits about 5 beats, carefully slips the shifter into 1st, and pulls out from the stop sign. I'm looking at him like "what are you waiting for?" as the truck barrels way ahead of us. My friend, not easily excited by such things, routinely shifts into 2nd, still driving like he's going through a school zone, then suddenly floors the accelerator and then... wait for it... the turbos spool up and the car takes off like it had been hit from behind by a speeding semi.

We entered the curve at around 105mph, passed the pickup truck going 120, and then, jamming on the brakes, slid past the stop sign into the middle of 380. Luckily there was no traffic at that time of night, and my friend backed up behind the stop sign and waited for the pickup to arrive. My friend looks over at me with just the slightest grin, and says "Sportscar."