How I got to the ripe old age of 43 amazes me. Here are just a few of my automotive scrapes-and we only have room for five.
Pleasant Garden, N.C., 1978. My first eye-opener came before I was old enough to drive. Riding shotgun in a friend's '72 Duster, we were on a narrow two-lane road that meandered through a poor rural area. We were doing the posted speed limit, except it was night and the fog had rolled in. My friend was a conscientious as any 16-year-old drive-but we were still going too fast-about 40. We rounded a bend, and immediately met a '64 Impala parked across both lanes. A lady had stalled it pulling out from her trailer, and had gone to get help. There was no missing it. I can still hear the sound of crunching sheetmetal, but what happened next was even scarier.
Within seconds, a mob gathered. For the first time in my life, I knew what it was like to be in a minority. When I saw the shotgun, I immediately imagined the headline, "Two Boys Found Dead." In an era before cell phones, we couldn't even call the sheriff.
Burlington, N.C., 1990. The five-liter Mustang craze was underway, and I was drag racing my '87 LX at Piedmont Dragway. After making several runs, my new 'Stang failed to start. Fortunately, I had Triple A (Auto Club). I asked the tow driver to bring it to the dealership, where I would call my wife to pick me up in town. No sooner did we get on the highway than this tow truck driver twice my size started to put his hands all over me. This was no movie, this was Deliverance, for real. I bailed out of that truck faster than you could say "squeal like a pig." Forget the Mustang. Miraculously, the driver left my car at the dealership anyway-the problem was a burned-out TFI module. The lessons I learned that day? Don't ride in a tow truck alone, and if you drive a Ford, keep a spare ignition module in the trunk.
Watkins Glen, N.Y., 1998. To this point, I considered myself a drag racer. Road racing was for wine connoisseurs. Yet buoyed by the recent success of friends, I decided to try a high-performance driving school with my '93 Firebird. My 'Bird had recently been modded by John Lingenfelter, who had given it some serious power. That, it turned out, was the last thing I needed on a road course. As my laps progressed, I got faster and more confident. Anybody who's been to the Glen knows how fast the backstretch is, and the Lingenfelter LT1 was pulling like a freight train. About seven laps into my session, I put my foot on the brake pedal, it went all the way to the floor, and nothing happened. The lesson learned that day is not to under-estimate the importance of good brakes.
Sparta, N.J., 2000. It was pouring rain and I was driving north on Route 15. My daughter was strapped in her car seat, sound asleep and sucking her fingers. I was coming down a long hill when the car on my right decided to change lanes into the exact space my '87 Turbo Buick was in. I swerved to the left to avoid him, then tried to steer it straight again. My Turbo-T was now crossed up in opposite lock. As I refused to relinquish control of the car, all I could think about was my daughter. Every time I corrected, it yawed back the other direction, but I kept sawing at it. Eventually, the car straightened. When it was over, there wasn't a single nick or scratch on the Buick. Unequivocally, my ability to save the car that day was a direct result of going to high-performance driving school.
Stroudsburg, PA, 2001. I was driving east on I-80 in another downpour. I was in my '87 Mustang again, which seemed to have nine lives. By now, it was packing a blown 310-inch Windsor with 640 hp, and on this day I was crawling along at 50. I was in the left lane when I hit a puddle collected against the center divider. Water grabbed the left tire and rotated the car toward the barrier. I cranked opposite lock, missing the barrier. I rode it the other way, then back again, wrestling control with the wheel until things finally went straight. Once again, there wasn't a scratch on the car, thanks to driving school.
Got a scary car story to tell that beats these?Drop me a note at john.hunkins@primedia.com.