History Ol' stories of your past! Fun times in Old Cars!

As I am only 40 years old, I have always enjoyed the stories behind the cars. My father would tell me stories as a young kid about all of his rides. Everything from his brakes going out in a 56 Chevy while headed into a bridge and he jumped out of the car, to popping wheelies in his 65 olds 442 with a 62 olds Starfire 425 and a two speed power glide.
So, I thought I would start a thread and see if any one would like to post a story or two about a ride they have or had. Photos would be great but not necessary. Just something to bring a smile on your face or a faint memory back in the light.
I look forward to reading them.

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Me too.

 

The best times I had with old cars are not stories to be told in public or mixed company.

 

**Warning** This story contains some vehicles newer than 1964.
I can start with a few from my youth, I grew up in the mid 1990's. My father always had an old car of some sort sitting in our driveway.
The earliest one I can remember is a 1953 Chevrolet Belair, Four door, it had the straight six in it with a three on the tree. This car was the typical Chevrolet dark green and was purchased from my grandmother's neighbor.
My brother and I always rode in the back seat with no seat belts and always played with the chrome ashtray in the back seat and the cloth strap going across the back. I remember riding around in this car with the smell of gas and oil.
Then moving into my youth, I was 15 years old and looking to buy my first car. My parents ended up trading a 1986 Dodge Colt Vista for a 1978 Mustang II with a 302/4spd and t tops. We ended up making it a clone of a King Cobra and enjoyed roasting the tires off during the 1st CarCraft Summer Nationals held in Sedalia, Missouri during the early 90's. My father ended up keeping this car as he said it was too fast for me. I ended with a 1983 Chevrolet Silverado this was in 1995.
I drove this truck for about a year and did the typical teen stuff, speeding, burn outs, and jumping dips down Ohio street late at night with friends in the back just so I could laugh as they came flying up in the air.
Then one day I was looking for a different vehicle and stumbled across a 1959 Chevrolet Biscayne in a local paper. I called the guy and asked if he would trade for a Chevy truck and to my surprise he said yes! I was shocked and yet over joyed as I would finally get to have my first cool classic. So I told my dad and he said ok he'll do the deal while I go to work. So my parents dropped me off at Hardee's ( my fast food job) and they proceeded to work out the deal.
I could not wait to get home, so when they came and picked me up and we pulled into the driveway my jaw hit the floor! Sitting in front of me was a fully restored 1959 Chevy Biscayne, 2 door post, 235 straight 6 with a three on the tree! I was flabbergasted! Then my dad broke the news! He said that will NOT be my car!
He told me he bought and paid for the truck, so he was taking the 59 Chevy as it was too nice of a car for a teenager to drive (he was probably quite correct with that statement). So he gave me his 1969 Torino GT Fastback, 302, C4 automatic and this begins my journey and memories into classic cars.

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I remember my 1st car back in 1966 was a 57 ford 2 door , 312 auto, still had the protective clear plastic seat covers . It was dads and he had gotten a new ford .Use to take the air cleaner cover off the 2 barrel and flip it over thinking I was doing something ,did make more noise sucking air . So borrowed a set of cheater slicks ( didn't need them) off a friend while he was working on his car put them on popped the stock 57 full caps back on and with that air cleaner flipped over and sucking air down the road I went .Couldnt wait to try those slicks out .Stop,start,stop, start ,stop start ,I couldn't break em loose no matter what I did. Had em on maybe a week and all of a sudden heard a scary clanging in the back every time it was moving .Thinking I messed the rear up trying to turn those slicks ,I finally realized I had to face the music and tell my Dad . Didn't tell him what I'd been doing but told him "think I blew the rear" his response "blew the rear " ,let's go .Left the house with me driving ,drove a couple blocks ,Dads shaking his head says "pull over " we get out he pops the right rear hubcap and out falls 1 or 2 lug nuts . He says yea "blew the rear " ! Thanks Dad , took them dang slicks off within the week and took them back to my buddy who had a car that needed them !

 

Around 1960 my cousin aged 16 and I aged 13 were given the family hand - me - down 36 Dodge sedan that the grown ups had thoroughly worn out.
We used (burned) oil drained from crankcases at the DX station and fitted porto walls from Western Auto and 57 Chev. rubber bumper bullets threaded into the bumper bracket holes. Rubber bumper bullets painted a pinkish shade of white.
We kept it at our house and I trained in it. The gravel drive way was just long enough to allow short shifting into third before reaching the garage door. I mastered the 3 speed floor shift on that gravel drive.
Once shifting was mastered I trained and mastered the art of raising the rpm's and side stepping the clutch.
This resulted in a glorious display of thrown gravel (burn out) and a dust cloud (tire smoke) much to the neighbors chagrin.

 

When I turned 16 and got my license, I got the use of Dads old car, a 64 Olds Dynamic 88 4 door sedan with a 394 4 bbl. The deal was, dad still used the car to go to peoples houses and give bids for the Jackhammer business, and if my older sister needed a car, she got to use it too.
Fortunately, sis had a boy friend and he was her main transportation. Most of the time, dad either used his "new" car, or his truck, so the Olds was pretty much my car.
I was in Power Mechanics Class (auto shop) and one day I took the Olds in for a tuneup. Lets say I didn't do very well on my 1st try. Dad's friend used to race dirt track cars, so after I did my tuneup, dad took the car down to his friends place to give it "The Super Tune".

It was about 9:30 pm when he got back home, he ordered me to get in the passenger seat, we were going for a ride! We went down to the mile long blacktop road a few miles from home. Dad stopped at the beginning of the road, pulled the shifer into low and matted the gas pedal! The 394 screamed to life, smoking the tires in low. He wound it out pretty tight and hit 2nd gear and the tires broke loose again! He hit 3rd gear and put up past 100 mph before he jumped hard on the brakes to get us stopped before the end of the road. Then he turned the car around, and did the whole deal all over again. On our trip back home, the only words he said to me was "If you screw with the tuneup on this again, it better run better then this when you get done."
The next Friday night, the Olds was a huge hit with my buddies! We raised hell all night. About a month later after a Friday fun night I got home and parked the car in its spot on the driveway, as usual. The next morning the car wouldn't move, it seemed someone must have broken the transmission.
All dad said was "If your going to play, you have to pay to fix it again." I got to buy the new trans, but he had his friend install it.
A month or so later, the rear tires were bald. There was a dispute on who was buying the new tires, but dad won. He junked the car! I had to buy my own car.....
My "new to me" car was broke a lot too.
Then I got married and moved out of the house. I created a new plan. There was the hot rod, and then there was the work car. I could still get to work when the hot rod was broke.

By the way, that gal I married why back then? Tomorrow will be out 44th wedding anniversary! Gene

 

I have too many stories to tell but one of the really funny was happened when I was about 12 or 13, which would have been about 63 or 64. One summer day my Mom's friend stopped and they decided to go shopping. Her son was a little older than me and kind of a dork, he wanted to stay with me at our house. Mom said she would drive as she wanted to pick up some mulch in the station wagon. That left his Mom's 55 Pontiac sitting in out driveway, with the keys in it. It didn't take dork boy long to figure we should take a little ride in the Pontiac. We lived kind of out in the country with back roads so I agreed. We lived at the bottom of a small hill. perfect for going about half way up and rolling backwards and pull it into low and some really long one wheel burnouts. Nimrod didn't know how to do all this so I was the instructor. After a couple times he got pretty good at it! When the Mothers came back the Pontiac was sitting in the same spot but there were about 6 long black marks starting at about my house and going up the hill. We might have been able to lie out of it but the right rear of the Pontiac had a bunch of little black rubber bits hanging on it. The kid's Mom had a shit fit, threw him in the back seat and took off, my Mom naturally thought I had been the driver because the other kid was such a good boy he would never do something like that. I was lucky the neighbor lady had seen all the goings on and told Mom I was just a passenger-WHEW!! From then on when the Moms went some where together they always took the Pontiac and mommy's bot stayed at his house
As a side note, not long after this little burn out lesson the Hydromatic in the Pontiac started to slip and it got traded off for a Corvair.

 

Had lots of fun on this first hot rod build.....396/4sp....and a few tickets....in the mid 70's.....changed license plate when we were on gas rationing - odd even days.........

 

We set off to go to Osborn Ks car show one year with three stock Model A's , a 54 F1, flathead powered 39 Ford , Chevy powered 40 Ford and one later pickup with a motorcycle in it. One of the Model A's was an unrestored original pickup that hadn't ran in 30 years, we scrounged enough parts to get it going and took off early in the morning. Got about 40 miles and the old pickup quit, tore the carb apart on the side of the road and cleaned it up enough to get going. Rear main was leaking on the pickup and had to keep adding oil. About 70 miles out we hit a sever thunder storm, the pickup kept quitting due to water in the distributor, would get out and dry it with the hood laying on their back. Then the 39 Sedan drowned out, dried the distributor on it and the owner had a trash bag on his right foot since the cowl vent was leaking. Made it into Salina and the tornado sirens were going off, the tornado was about 5 miles away in the area we just came through. Stopped at a parts store to buy a case of oil for the pickup and were discussing where to carry it in the heavy rain, the suggestion was made to just pour it on the ground since that's where it was going anyway. Stopped at a Model A parts dealer there and bought a pan gasket and parts to rebuild the distributor. Finally made it to Osborn 9 hours and a case of oil later. The next morning they dropped the pan with the oil still in it and changed the gasket, drove the pickup to the park and pulled the distributor and rebuilt it. Only took 5 hours and 2 quarts of oil to get back home. Sounds like a terrible trip but something we have looked back on and laughed about, part of the fun with old cars and hot rods is that every trip is an adventure !!!

 

LOL they weren't "classic"s when I bought them they were just old cars.
First car I bought myself with my money was my 51 Merc coupe that I bought when I was 16 from Chuck Darlington who was the crafts shop teacher who taught guys in one of his classes how to make laminated plastic dash knobs. I had the car for 32 years total I drove it to my 20th class reunion in 1985 and classmates still called it "Darlington's old Merc" The car was lowered, had loud pipes and a blanket for a seat cover. One of my buddies had a thing for a gal in our class and he would catch me in the school parking lot most mornings and we would wheel up the street a few blocks towards where she lived and catch her and her galfriend walking to school so he could talk to her for a minute or two but I don't think he ever got a date with.
I bought a Nash Metropolitan rag top when the flathead in the Merc blew up on the way home from a summer job and that little bugger while fun got me a few fights because guys at school thought it was a toy that they cold mess with. Finally a friend of mine who I had gone though school from the first grade put a stop to the messing with it before one of them got hurt more than a black eye.
Summer of 1966 I spent with my dad an got a job at Boeings in Renton bucking rivets in the window panel section on the 727 line . Probably not one of those still flying now. I needed a car and we found a 55 Buick Special on a lot in Seattle for 75.00.
First night I had it I ran all over the place an on the way home it developed a knock and I parked it and walked the last couple of miles up Benson Highway to my dad's next morning we went down to get it and he decided to drive it to see what was wrong with it. He takes off up the road and floors it and all the sudden there is a big bang, a bigger cloud of smoke and the car lifted up about six inches in the air. Obvious that the engine had blown up. We hooked a tow strap between it and his Black 57 Olds Supper 88 with the J-2 Tri power in it and dragged it back to his palace and I pulled the intake and valley cover and there were pieces of rod and cam shaft laying in the valley. No fixing that one.
Dad left on a weeks vacation with his girlfriend and I stayed at her place in town and walked to work every day. I stopped at a music store on the way back one afternoon and got to talking to the clerk and we got to talking cars and he said he had a 55 Buick Super Sedan that he would sell for either 60 or 70 bucks that ran good. When dad got back we went over and bought it and I drove it back to his place, and we ran down to the rent it place and rented a cherry picker that you towed with your trailer hitch and towed it home and proceeded to pull the engine on my 55 Special. backed the super up and sat the engine and trans in the trunk as a unit and turned the car around and pulled the engine, shoved the super back, shoved the special under the engine and dropped it in. I drove it to work with no hood on Monday morning. That was one of the best engines I ever owned and that car would fly. In a moment of not being too smart of a 19 year old I pulled the front bumper off to give it what I thought was a gasser look.

 

I was 15....Walking home in the rain when the girl next door drove up in her....Nevermind..Told this story before.

 

My younger brother and I always had car competitions. One year when we was teenagers, he owned a 1976 Cadillac coupe de ville with a 500 cubic inch motor and I owned a 1972 Lincoln Mark IV with a 460 c.i. motor in it. We would both argue over who's tank was the fastest.
So one afternoon on our way home we decided to race each other down the side streets of our town. So imagine two Giant behemoths racing down side streets like Steve McQueen in Bullitt!
We were side by side only inches apart toping every bit of 80mph, when my hubcaps flew off, and then my brother started pulling away. He eventually won the race, but I blamed loss of aerodynamics because my hubcaps flew off.
That 72 Lincoln of mine ended up catching on fire one evening due to my I lack of experience working on carbs and timing in my youth. It ended up backfiring and stayed on fire and I did not realize that.

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About 1960 I had a stock bodied 29 rpu with 283 and 4:10 GM rear. End of an evening at the club barn. Guys wanted to go to our favorite drive-In burger joint about ten miles out of town. Of course they wanted to ride in bed of 29. We're on the main county road out of town and caught a light. One car stopped. Brand new Cadillac hardtop. Still stickers on glass. Temp tag. I stopped next to him. He looked over and told us he once had a similar Model-A. The light changed and we both took off. I had no trouble keeping up with him. Guys in back leaning over side cheering me on. Cadillac guy kept looking over. Couldn't believe his new $5,000 Cadillac was being beaten by seven guys in a Model-A Ford. His wife was laughing hysterically. Few blocks later we were over 65mph. I let up. Fast enough with seven guys. Cadillac never let up. We could see his tail lights all the way up the hill and out of sight. .

 

Not so much about our cars but rather about the antics that went on at our club barn circa 1960 which is where we built hot rods but also a hangout for members who might help or make a run to the White Castle. Barn was at the end of a long driveway behind an old house.
A bitterly cold evening - light snow falling. I arrived to find guys standing around hands in pockets. Too cold to work on cars. What can we do? One guy said he had some cherry bomb firecrackers. I thought that was a dumb idea. Just make noise? We'd sometimes get those small firecrackers that were the diameter of a pencil that came with the fuses twisted together. We'd stick one thru the closed end of an orange juice can. We always had a few on hand for exhaust repairs. We could blow an orange juice can really high. But a cherry bomb would shred an orange juice can. One guy suggested we find a way to shoot something else. He found a long length of old round drain pipe. OK. But what to shoot out of it? A tennis ball was found. Perfect fit. The fuzz just touched. By now the cold was forgotten. All attention was on our "project." Now we needed a breach. The cast iron cap from the oxygen cylinder was twisted on. Perfect. A 34 pickup had been backed into the barn - just inside the door. Pipe in bed from tailgate out over cab. Aimed down the long driveway. Looked like artillery piece. Cherry bomb was in the cylinder cap with fuse out thru crack. Jobs assigned - light fuse,, open door. GO. Fuse lit. Door opened. BOOOM. But tennis ball never came out. Damn. What happened? We quickly figured the explosion had deformed the ball and it got fatter and stuck. OK. Put a nail thru the pipe to hold the ball a foot away from the cherry bomb so the pressure would increase gradually. . GO. Fuse lit again. Door opened again. BOOOM again. Nobody saw the speeding bullet leave the pipe. Close door again. But it was gone! Cheers.
Unbeknownst to us all, Jack had parked out in the street and was walking up the long driveway in total darkness and lightly falling snow. Suddenly a blinding light (door opening), an explosion, a sense that something unseen flew past, the light went out. All in less than two seconds. What the hell was all of that? The cold was long forgotten and we were all busy laughing and congratulating one another when Jack opened the barn door with a baffled expression. Laughter increased dramatically. And we never found the tennis ball. .

 

My buddy and I were in our junior year(67-68) of vocational school auto mechanics. His mom got a newer car and gave him her 57 Ford Custom 300, six with a three on the tree. He bought a wrecked 57 wagon with a 312. We rebuilt the 312 and put it in the 57 2 door. The first day we got it going we were bustin ass down a back road when we came up on a hill, when we crested the hill there was a bunch of chickens in the road. He swerved to the left to try to miss the chickens and the passenger door flew open. I damned near fell out and the open door slammed into a bunch of hens! He ran in the ditch but got it back on the road leaving feathers and dead chickens in out wake. We were afraid some one had seen us so we went back to the farm house to face the music. The farmer was pretty pissed but we told him he should keep his animals fenced up out of the public road. There were six dead chickens and he figured we should give him $5 bucks each. We ended up working it off in the hay field. On the up side he had a pretty good looking daughter that my buddy got friendly with, all I got was a couple days sweating my ass off!

 

LOl, this is great, I hope this thread keeps going for a long time. As many old hands as there are here, there has to be a lifetime's worth of stories! C'mon guys!

 

If you douche down the tennis ball with lighter fluid they are easier to track. Sort of a slow fuzzy tracer.

 

Must have been very short blocks.

 

This story again involves my brother and a few of our friends drinking and being bored. We were all sitting in our garage while I was filling holes in my 1950 Buick, when my brother came rolling up with a shopping cart from the local grocery store.
It only took a few minutes before the alcohol thinking kicked in and we found an old foot powered kids scooter laying in the corner of the garage and our fabrication skills were put to a test.
We cut the back half of the scooter off and the front wheels of the shopping cart off. We mated the two together and attempted welding them together, but unsure of our welding skills we resorted to ducktape wrapped around this contraption.
We cut the basket off the cart but left the back for someone to lean against. Then we somehow managed to talk my brother into climbing on and being pulled behind the a car.
Now my 1950 Buick was not ready to run yet, so we tied a rope to the bumper of my buddies 64 Impala and we convinced my brother to jump on.
Now with safety in mind we did duck tape a metal construction hard hat to my brothers head and stuffed his over-alls with couch cushions and pillows. Then down the road we went blazing at about 35 mph, with my brother and this contraption swerving side to side. This lasted for a good 10 city blocks before the bearings started going out in the cart. So to slow down my brother used the soles of his boots against the road and we all safely made it back home, although my brother's boots were the only casualty.

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I figured this is the best place to document the ol' stories. I lost a couple really good ol' timer friends this last year and their stories are only memories now, all to soon to be forgotten.

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I grew up in Socal. When I was about 18, a buddy of mine and I decided to go to a car show in Bakersfield, about 4 hours from where we lived. Speed limits were 55 at the time, and I was running a 4.10 posi, along with a heavy clutch behind my 4 speed.

Maybe an hour into the trip, we had stopped for gas and I romped on it getting onto a freeway onramp. As went to hit 3rd gear, I had no clutch pedal. I pulled off and we found that the clutch ball had broken off that screwed into the block. Well, gotta keep going, of course.

I was able to shift using he synchros as long as I kept moving, but if I had to come to a complete stop, I had to shift it into neutral, stop, shut off the engine, then use the starter to get us going again. I did that all the way there to get us to the hotel, and to the show the next morning.

After wandering the show, we discovered that there was a small swap meet. With our hopes up, we searched every bit of it looking for another clutch ball in every vendor's space. We thought we were out of luck, until we came near the end.

There was a guy with a bare 409 block he was trying to sell. Bare except for that clutch ball that was practically glowing, hanging out the side. We explained our situation and he sold it to me for $2.

My buddy and I changed it out in the show parking lot with a set of needle nose pliers.

That was nearly 30 years ago now. That clutch ball has stayed with me, in the same car for all until the last few years. I lost track of it in engine swaps between my car and my son's. One of us has it, I'm not sure who at this point. He knows the history and the story behind it. My buddy that was with me on that trip is gone now, but I still think of him regularly.

Devin

 

My father opened hisown auto repair shop in the rarly fifties. Had to have a shop truck so purchased a 1946 Ford 1/2 to pickup with the flathead V-8 that need work. We pulled engine and rebuilt with a H-C cam, adjustable lifters , dual carbs and Fenton headers. It ran much better!!
Learned very early that second gear teeth in the transmission were no match for the rear tires!!
Luckily, we were friendly with the local auto wrecking yard and he saved all the Ford transmissions for us. We bought them for $5 or $10 each.
I think the record time for removing the transmission was something around 17 minutes after a couple of times.

My sisters' time was a lot slower---Yep, Dad had her remove the transmission after she blew it !!

After one of the mechanics blew the transmission Dad had enough and traded a local rancher for a 1956 Ford pickup with an automatic transmission.

 

Also in the 70's club banners were being stolen at NSRA events, all in good taste, & returned the following year to the rightful owners. Lots of good clean fun!

 

Full disclosure, this should fall just within the scope of a HAMB friendly story. We were living in Southern California and had a small 1964 Karmann Ghia. In the Summer of 1968 we won a free tour to 20th Century Fox Film Studios in West Los Angeles. My mom chose to drive the Karmann Ghia instead of taking the 1957 Ford Station Wagon. With mom and 3-kids we piled into the Karmann Ghia and drove off. At some point during the drive we came to a tremendous hill on the road we were on, must have been close to 35-40 degree climb. Dear mom, she didn't think the Karmann Ghia with 4 people in it could make to the top. So, we quickly reversed course, and found another means to get to the studio. The postscript: Mom is still around at 95 years old. The Karmann Ghia lasted until 1973. The 20th Century Fox Film Studios are long ago torn down and redeveloped and the property today is known Century City.

 

Hello,

When I was in 9th grade, our grade level like all schools in Long Beach, CA had us plopped in the junior high school campus, not on the official, local high school campus. There were a few OC schools that had grades 9-12 on the high school campus back then. For some odd reason, Long Beach did not. 9th grade is still officially part of the high school curriculum and credits for graduation, but the students were at the Junior High School campuses.

The advantage was that as 9th graders, we were the kings and queens on campus. The top echelon of students with privileges to go along with the status, at least during school campus activities. But, at home, I was just a 14 year old kid with all of the 14 year old teenage ideas and experiences. One day, my parents took my brother to a school function. He was a senior and it was his pre-graduation assembly and confirmation.

I was given the ok to have a party at our Westside Long Beach house as our neighbor’s mom would be the chaperone. Her son was already invited and it just worked out that the chaperone would stay in the main house and we young teens would have the run of the backyard Rumpus Room for the party. (this was pre 1940 Willys Coupe build and the transformation of the Rumpus Room into a full fledged hot rod speed shop.)

Since my parents and my brother went to the high school ceremonies in my dad’s 57 Buick, the 58 Impala was sitting in the garage, ready to impress all who walked by to get to the backyard Rumpus Room. Our nearby neighbor’s kids already knew of the 58 Impala as they saw us driving by many times. But for the new kids we invited, they were totally impressed. A teenager with access to a fairly new 1958 Chevy black Impala. I was proud in those moments.

photo on right: reflection of rear roof vents from the black 58 Impala sitting in the garage.

Jnaki

As the evening wore on, the teenage music, dancing, tons of food, and just hanging out was going full bore. There were kids all over the yard, in the outdoor seating areas, patio table and benches as well as the couches and chairs inside the rumpus room. It was a little crowded, but this was the last “Junior High School” event for us 9th graders. There were plenty of close dancing going on with the “Do Wop” music.

By the time the evening was getting late and almost time for my parents to come home, this girl that I had known since the 6th grade was in dire straits. She did not have any way to get home, about 2.5 miles away. So, as nice as a teen could be, I offered to drive her home. The chaperone said it was ok, since I told her it was just on the other side of the elementary school, which it was, but miles away.

I told the chaperone I would take the 58 Impala to take my friend home and would be right back. Well, it was 9:30 pm when I left and 10:30 pm when I returned. There were still kids at our house as the time limit was 11:00pm. By this time, as nice as it was driving my brother’s 58 Impala and the resulting fun that was had upon arriving, I did get a stern warning that it was not to be done ever again. “But, mom, I had to take her home, since she had no way to get back. The bus service was stopped at 9, so that was the only way to get her home.” “I wanted to be a gracious host to my friend…etc.” (My “take home date” was totally impressed and gracious, that I could drive a stick shift car with ease, while driving her home safely.)

The girl I took home remained my friend all through high school and after graduation, she moved away. Sad, but memories still are functioning in this old brain. That was the last party in that Rumpus Room. The summer allowed us to do the yard destruction and my brother and I tore into the room to install a garage door for our workplace and speed shop.
The Rumpus Room conversion later on in late 1959.

Was my brother mad at me for taking his Impala on a 5 mile drive without a license? Nah… he just smiled and remembered that he bought his first 1951 Olds Sedan at age 15 and drove all over the place as a young driver, pre-official license.

 

I just want to say thank you to all who post their memories on here.

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In the summer of 1988 I was 19 years old. I borrowed my brother's OT 79 Camaro. He had it hopped up so, it was a good runner. I was cruising around and I just wanted to open this car up on a nice stretch of road. So, I headed to a 3 lane road about two miles long with no stops or lights. It ran 1 lane north, 1 lane south and a center lane for left turns.
Well, I get to the road going northbound and there are about 12 or so cars in front of me doing the speed limit. Crap! this isn't fun So I decide I'm going to rip past everyone by using the center turning lane. Ignoring the no passing signs, I smash the petal down and start the speedometer climbing.
Now, I am flying...almost at 100mph I am just cresting the hill when all at once I see a police car, stopped dead in the center lane, facing me! I slammed on the brakes and locked up the wheels. Screeching tires and a big cloud of dust, I am on a collision course for the police car. I got close enough to see the panic on his face...He nails the gas and veers into the southbound lane. Avoiding the crash.
Now, I had all these thoughts and ideas for what seemed like minutes but, in reality it was only about 3 seconds...Oh S*#t! I'm in trouble. I'm in the turning lane...No passing ...I know! I'll turn left into one of these businesses . At least I can say I was using the center lane for turning left...See officer I was using the center lane for turning left...Yeah that should work!
So, I make my left turn and by sheer coincidence, I turn into a huge used car lot... I park the car into an empty parking spot among all the other cars. I shut off the car, to await my fate.
Now since he took off in the southbound lane, I knew he had to turn around, northbound to come get me...5 seconds later I hear the sirens, I turn to look up at the road and what do I see? The police car whizzing down the road trying to catch that crazy camaro!! He never saw me pull into the lot! He thought I kept speeding down the road... I was too scared to leave the car lot, I thought soon as I hit the road he'll be waiting for me..So I sat in the car for two hours listening to music until I got up the nerve to leave... So, finally, I left and went home ...very calm and slow.

 

Going to try to make this as short as possible to keep interest.
In 2005 my good friend and I we’re headed from Rapid City over to Watertown South Dakota in the ‘29 for the Vintiques rod run. The car does not have a speedometer so I have learned to judge my speed by the RPM. We decided to take the two lane for most of this trip. At one point I got behind some slow cars coming through the town of DeSmet. I was looking for a chance to pass them. We had been cruising considerably above the speed limit until this point so I wanted to maintain that. Just as I was getting ready to pass I noticed a car coming in the opposite direction, it was the SDHP. Glad I didn’t pass. So I got to thinking if I did get pulled over did I have all the proper paperwork like registration and insurance. Turns out that I did not have that paperwork. I had left it in my daily driver from a trip to the treasurers office to get tags. So I informed my friend of that and drove the speed limit or at least closer to it from that point on. He was nice enough to inform me not to worry that if we did get pulled over he would inform the trooper that the last car we stole had all that paperwork in it. You can always count on your friends .
I won’t even get into the return trip home how we discussed wearing Depends so we wouldn’t have to stop so much for the bathroom.