1970 Roadrunner - again
It's easy to skip details when a person conveys a story to others. I get immersed in the memories of those days gone by. I can still feel the cool night air, see the broken yellow dividing lines of the highway move by so fast that they seem like one solid line, hear the pitch of the engine as I rocketed down the road, and feel the panic as I contemplated what to do.
I was still a teenager. I lived with my folks where I helped out on the family farm in addition to working at a factory 25 miles away. My family was conservative and although I wasn't a trouble maker, I was the most outlandish of my parent's 5 children. - The bad seed. I loved my folks dearly. They were the type of people (though they're gone now) that I looked up to. But the hotrod bug had bitten me and I was hooked.
So, faced with the situation I had gotten myself into I had to make a decision. Either continue ahead and hope for the best or give it up. I decided to pull over.
It was almost as if I was possessed by someone else. I wasn't acting as I normally would have. This wasn't me. But it was.
I had turned off the ignition before they'd arrived. In the silence my mind seemed to go blank. I just sat there in the dark and waited.
It took almost two minutes for the cops to arrive. As the first car pulled up behind me, the second turned around and headed back to Seward. I watched them through the corner of my eye in the rear view mirror as I stared at the gauges. - The red light from the car behind piercing the darkness made everything seem surreal. Time to pay the piper.
A minute or so went by before the officer walked up to my door. My window was still rolled up so he knocked on the glass with his flashlight. I didn't respond. A few seconds later he knocked again. Slowly I turned my head and faced him. He motioned with his hand for me to roll down the window. I did. - And as calmly as I could, I said "Yes?" in a questioning tone. My voice didn't waiver. The panic I was feeling stayed hidden.
I recognized the police officer. He was a new hire. It was his first week on the force. His name was Henry. What made him stand out was his stature. He was only five foot tall. He compensated for his height by wearing a 10 gallon cowboy hat. Although he must have thought it made him look taller, it actually had the opposite effect.
The first words out of his mouth were " Boy, You in a heap of trouble." I'm not making that up. He really said it. Anyone familiar with the old 70s Dodge commercials will recognize that line. Next he said, " You better follow me back to the station." and walked back to his car.
I waited for him to turn around but instead, he returned to my car and said, "On second thought, I'd better follow YOU back to the station."