MerlintheMad
10000 Posts Club!
Wednesday evening, I went slot car racing and strolled to victory (it happens: that all the "adventures" happen to the rest of the field and you get to make a clean run).
I wasted no time packing up and departing. It was deep evening.
As I pulled up the on ramp at west bound I-80 from State, the white BMW in front of me (with a temporary sticker, so not long the possession of the driver) hit it, and like a magnet my foot mashed the kick down switch and NAV dropped into 1st or 2nd gear, then shifted up as we went barreling along toward the north-south split. The Bimmer had the drop on me, but did not increase the distance between us (c. seven car lengths) and I saw its brake lights as it jinked to take the north bound lanes. I of course went south. My speed on the interchange was considerable but I did not touch the brakes but rather let the turn slow me down. I never looked at the instruments the whole time so I don't know how fast I was going. I just know it was very extra legal. At the peak of the pursuit it went over 100. I've done this enough to know that much. When I got onto I-15 I was still in 5th gear going over 90. Heh.
Thursday morning: Heh! Introspection! Awakened to "warning number four" (and last; I feel it in my cells). No cops present for the last warning, and that is telling. Just remembering how stupid I was to chase Bimmer tail, any tail at all. Stupid! I have sworn to Existence Itself with my own audible voice that I shall not, ever again, be pulled, goaded, cajoled, connived, chivied, shamed, tempted, bribed, threatened or begged into another race. (On the open road, of course: somebody with access to a race track could offer the venue and I'd no doubt enjoy some laps: getting trounced, because I have zero inclination to beat on my pretty car.)
I have also raised my arm to the square and promised my wife that I will never race again. (That doesn't include passing fast; which is quite enough risk.)
I wasted no time packing up and departing. It was deep evening.
As I pulled up the on ramp at west bound I-80 from State, the white BMW in front of me (with a temporary sticker, so not long the possession of the driver) hit it, and like a magnet my foot mashed the kick down switch and NAV dropped into 1st or 2nd gear, then shifted up as we went barreling along toward the north-south split. The Bimmer had the drop on me, but did not increase the distance between us (c. seven car lengths) and I saw its brake lights as it jinked to take the north bound lanes. I of course went south. My speed on the interchange was considerable but I did not touch the brakes but rather let the turn slow me down. I never looked at the instruments the whole time so I don't know how fast I was going. I just know it was very extra legal. At the peak of the pursuit it went over 100. I've done this enough to know that much. When I got onto I-15 I was still in 5th gear going over 90. Heh.
Thursday morning: Heh! Introspection! Awakened to "warning number four" (and last; I feel it in my cells). No cops present for the last warning, and that is telling. Just remembering how stupid I was to chase Bimmer tail, any tail at all. Stupid! I have sworn to Existence Itself with my own audible voice that I shall not, ever again, be pulled, goaded, cajoled, connived, chivied, shamed, tempted, bribed, threatened or begged into another race. (On the open road, of course: somebody with access to a race track could offer the venue and I'd no doubt enjoy some laps: getting trounced, because I have zero inclination to beat on my pretty car.)
I have also raised my arm to the square and promised my wife that I will never race again. (That doesn't include passing fast; which is quite enough risk.)
She LOVES my stinger.
Now, this visceral warning from my own stupidity. It didn't take a cop this time, just myself saying to myself, "Act your age, bucko!"
