Sex on Wheels

I have always been fascinated with cars, as long as I can remember. It's probably my dad's fault – he was an auto mechanics instructor at our local college for 35 years. When I was born, my daddy was building race car engines. It's in my blood.

I am the youngest of two daughters – no boys in my family. Dad always taught my sister and I to take care of our own car. I know how to change my oil, grease a front end (handy for older cars), check and change my break pads…I know my way around a car pretty well. It comes in very handy when I'm far away from dad and my car needs repairs. I usually have a pretty good idea what's wrong and can nail any mechanic that tries to rip me off to the wall. I love the looks I get when I start talking exhaust manifolds and cam shafts with a mechanic. They're priceless.

I used to help dad around the garage quite a bit – handing him tools, helping with whatever he had going on. We've done a lot of body work together as dad used to buy wrecked cars, fix them and then sell them. You can make a pretty good profit that way. It also fueled a bit of my fascination with the slightly morbid things in life - going to the salvage yard and examining the way a car crumples when it crashes, the damage done and imagining the injuries involved as I look at a head-shaped indentation in a windshield. Ouch.

When I started driving, I discovered the need for speed. For my first speeding ticket, I was written up for 72 mph in a 55 zone. I was actually clocked at 77, but I batted my baby-blues enough to have him knock off 5 to keep me from losing my license. Heh

My first car was a '77 Chevy Impala with a big V8 and a 350 rocket tranny. It would fly. Unfortunately, a friend who insisted that I was too drunk to drive home proved that statement by flipping it three times in a ravine. She was drunk, too. We were lucky to walk away from that one – I came out of it with lots of bruises and a bad attitude. Dad had it towed to our house and left it in the driveway for 3 months, torturing me by forcing to look at it.

I can handle a car very well and have a firm handle on the physics involved in knowing how to take a corner at a high speed while keeping at least two wheels on pavement. The relative anonymity of this blog allows me to admit that I ran from the cops once and got away! Yep. I outran them and lost them. Neener neener.

The Fast and the Furious

When I was in high school, I dated a guy who had a very nice 1972 (or was it '78?) Z28. It was sweet! We used to go down to this parking lot and sit on our cars to hang out (small town, not much to do) on weekends. We were sitting on the Z when some smack-talkin' escalated to the point where it became "my car can kick your car's ass" so the challenge was laid out. Street racing, here I come!

We went out to an area in the country where there was a nice, straight long stretch of highway. Scott was happy to let me drive – he was a horrible driver and I was all for it. Hell yeah! The dingus that challenged us was driving an old Chevelle, but I could tell by listening to it that it wasn't all that. I knew I could whoop him, and I did. Smoked him. We probably did about two miles, and I was out of the car before he crossed the finish line. HA! The adrenalin rush was fantastic.



After that, the challenges kept coming. There were a few cars that could beat me and the Z, but not many. I raced probably about 10 or 12 times before my last race.

Now, don't get all worried – I didn't crash. In fact, I am proud to say that I have never been in a crash with me behind the wheel. I've been the helplessly horrified front seat passenger in too many crashes, but not when I was in control.

The last time I raced was fatal for the Z. When the hat flew up, I stomped it and took off like a shot. When I shoved her into third gear, I heard a huge pop and all hell broke loose under the hood. I had dropped a rod and pieces and parts flew everywhere. One piece even broke a hole in one of the fenders. Needless to say, I lost that race and the Z never moved on her own power again. RIP Z baby.

These days, I get most of my car jollies by watching others get theirs on TV. I like NASCAR and I really like drag racing. Where NASCAR can be a bit boring as they go round and round, drag racing is all action. Hot, smokin' tire, flying by the seat of your pants action.

I discovered drag racing at an early age since we were friends with the Johnson family – my childhood friend Tommy Johnson Jr. went on to blow away the competition in an NHRA victory at the 1988 Pontiac Excitement Nationals Top Alcohol Funny Car final. I believe he was the youngest ever to win at the tender age of 20. His dad’s shop was right across the street from my mom's store, so I would go over there and hang out, drooling over their cars. Tommy is now a member of the Cragar 4-Second Club and the Slick 50 300-mph Club, finishing in the top 10 for the last 5 years in a row. He now drives the Skoal Racing Chevy Monte Carlo Funny Car. Lucky dawg.


Yep, that's Tommy.

A couple of years before D was born, I got a wild hair and decided I wanted to go for a test drive. I went down to the local Lexus dealers used lot, and picked out my target. After giving the salesmen a schtick about having just started my own business and setting goals for myself, he let me take the Lexus SC400 coupe out for a drive – alone. WOO HOO!

This was one sweet car. Forest green with gold trim, tan leather interior, 12 disc CD changer with awesome surround sound system, combo moon/sun roof…it was simply loaded. This baby cornered like it was on rails, and had enough power to smoke the tires by accident if you weren't careful. Yowza.

I drove like a good girl for about 3 blocks, then it was ON. I headed straight out to the interstate, and opened her up. Next thing I know, I was doing about 120 mph, smooth as a silk ribbon with plenty of throttle left. Yee haw! Thankfully, there were no highway patrol around, but I didn't push my luck by holding that speed for very long. Gawd it was fun to drive. After two hours, I washed it and then took it back. I didn’t want to, but didn’t want an APB out on my ass.

I should mention that, even though the car was used, the price tag was $54,000. It was only a year old and had about 3000 miles on it, but you know what the depreciation does in the first year. My guess is that the new price was probably more than my freaking house.

If I were to have my choice of any car I want, however, it would not be a Lexus. It wouldn't even be a new car – it would be a '68 Camaro. No doubt about it.



Like I said before...sex on wheels, baybee!

I could go on about this subject forever, but I'll leave you with this - a song by the Dead Milkmen that kicks ass:

Bitchin' Camaro!

Bitchin' Camaro, Bitchin' Camaro!
I ran over my neighbors
Bitchin' Camaro, Bitchin' Camaro!
Now I'm in all the papers

My folks bought me a bitchin' Camaro
With no insurance to match
So if I happen to run you down
Please don't leave a scratch

I ran over some old lady
One night at the county fair
And I didn't get arrested
Because my dad's the mayor

Bitchin' Camaro, Bitchin' Camaro!
Donuts on your lawn
Bitchin' Camaro, Bitchin' Camaro!
Tony Orlando and Dawn

When I drive past the kids
They all spit and cuss
Cause I've got a bitchin' Camaro
And they have to ride the bus

So you'd better get out of my way
When I come through your yard
Cause I've got a bitchin' Camaro
And an Exxon credit card

Bitchin' Camaro, Bitchin' Camaro!
Hey man where ya headed?
Bitchin' Camaro, Bitchin' Camaro!
I'm drunk on unleaded!