Back in the day (early 70's) I used to give people rides at night on my Kawasaki 500 to sober them up so they could drive home.
Traveling on I-275 with one of my friends, a Chevy Impala wants to sit in the next lane at the same speed right next to my tail light for about a mile.
I speed up and so does the Chevy. I slow down and so does the Chevy.
I run it up to about 90, so does the Chevy.
I wail on up to about 115, the Chevy struggles to and does catch up.
My friend tells me to get real close to the car and I tell him don't kick it because it will throw us off balance.
My friend gently places his left hand on the right window of the Chevy. His
fingers were all balled up except for his middle finger which he left extended.
We laughed for a couple of seconds and moved back into the center of our lane.
The dome light on the Chevy came on and our hearts sank. .............
All I could make out was the uniform of a Hamilton County Deputy Sheriff.
He was on his way to work in his private car. I dropped about 2 gears and left him for about 30 seconds when I realized that the S.O. was at the next exit. I let him catch up (I can still hear the wail of the 4 bbl) and as soon as he got close I spiked the brakes, turned left and made a U-turn thru the median as he smoked his brakes trying to slow down.
We got back to my friends car and went to his house.
I hid the bike there for 2 weeks but nothing ever came of it. My buddy told everybody what we had done and somebody called me crazy and the name stuck....Crazy Dave