I remember driving to Ride of the Valkyries a couple times.
I had a '77 Pontiac Grand Prix, 400 ci engine at the time... The thing with a great maul like hood and evil looking head lights.
Down town Des Moines.
That wasn't nearly so bad as driving my Escort Wagon (called Igor) down my alternate route to Hwy 24, through Taunton, in Southern Massachusetts... That little beast might not have had much poop, but it was great handling... *Evil cackle*
But Massachusetts was a trip anyway... my first week working up there, I got aggrivated by the Massachutti flocking habits. You know, drive as fast as you can until you encounter a flock that's going slower than you are and snuggle right in.
I ended up in the middle of one some how.
I wanted out, so the fast lane opened up suddenly... so I flogged poor ol' Igor to 80 mph and pulled out. Igor was a 16 year old car at that time... meant for 55 mph. 80 mph was pegging the spedometer. I was shaking rattling and rolling, and working on getting around that last 18 wheeler when the shape in my rear view carified into a trooper.
AH GREAT! There goes my class 9 rating on insurance! DAMN! As if we need another expense!
Well. The 18 wheeler wasn't backing off. The trooper sure wasn't, so I plastered the pedal to the floor and eeked out a fraction more speed... enough to get around the truck, and pulled into the middle lane again, expecting the trooper to follow me.
WHHHOOOOOOOOOSH!!!!!! The trooper passed.
Wasn't complaining mind you... but I didn't expect that! So I just flogged ol' Igor home and didn't worry about watchin' the spedometer during rush hour again.
Mother Mo Cridhe!
It's Kate McCridhe!