Friday, November 28, 2008

Camaro Story


1971

My dad and three friends used to drive from Connecticut to Miami on 72 hour passes (academy speak) in his 1969 Camaro Super Sport. They would drive for 24 hours, party in Miami for 24 hours, and then drive back. Don't ask me why. Miami is "the shit" after all.

This was back when I-95 was only two lanes, one coming and one going. On one occasion they were passing through a very small town in Georgia about 40 miles from the Florida border. It was 1 a.m., and as they passed through the town my dad noticed that the speed limit had been reduced to 30 mph.

He was traveling at 95 mph.

Of course a police car pulled out behind him with lights flashing. Now this is the part of the story that my dad waited till after I graduated from college to tell me.

"I don't know why," my dad said, "but I hit the gas."

For the next 15 minutes my dad led this cop on a chase through the Georgia country side. Finally, he saw the sign for the Florida border in the distance. On the other side of the border sat a Florida State Trooper. Just before he hit the border my dad hit the brakes and skidded into Florida at a "legal" 55 miles per hour. He pulled his car over to the shoulder, turned it off, and waited to see what would happen.

The Georgia Trooper came across the border and parked behind the Florida Trooper. He got out of his car and walked over to the Florida Trooper's car and spoke to him for about a minute. When he was finished the Florida State trooper pulled out and drove away.

"Shit," my dad was thinking, "what the hell was that about?"

The Georgia trooper walked over to my dad's car and with the thickest southern accent you could possibly imagine had the following conversation:

"Son," the trooper said, "do you have any idea how fast you was goin?"

"Well sir, my speedometer only goes up to 120," my dad said.

"Yeah, well, my speedometer only goes up to 120 too," said the trooper, "but I clocked you with the radar while we was drivin and you was drivin at 140 miles per hour."

My dad stared at the trooper as he continued to speak.

"I've never been 140 miles per hour before," said the trooper, "and since you have provided me with an experience that I never had before.......I'm gonna let you go.......but if you ever come through this part of Georgia again.......you're going to jail."
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MOVIE LINE OF THE DAY:
"That's thirty minutes away. I'll be there in ten." -Pulp Fiction

1 comment:

It's All Good said...

haha, thats intense! These days Florida cops just pull you over and give you a ticket for anything...