"STREET RACE"---written as a short-short story exercise in 2013

[cammerfe]

My first new car was a '64 Ford Custom with a 425 horsepower 427-T engine, the required four speed, and so on.

And, unfortunately, I wrecked it while street-racing a 409 Chevrolet. (Yeah, the Beach Boys and all that!) It was a little after midnight and he was out with his girlfriend---and challenged me. The first time we ran, I was beating him so badly that I let off in third gear. He said he missed a shift and wanted to go again. So we went up around the curve we could see ahead and went at it one more time. The result was about the same except that I stayed in it.

Those of you who've driven a '64 Ford will remember that the sweep of the speedo needle was such that above 120 MPH the needle disappeared into the side of the housing. But slightly beyond that you'd be able to see it again in the little red idiot light to the right.

I'd got to that point---and a couple of bus-lengths ahead of the 409---when I realized that there was another curve ahead. I took my foot out of it and tried to ride it out, but I was drifting pretty good and ran out of pavement. When I hit the dirt along the edge, the rear end came around. I hit a sign saying 'curve' with my rear tire and the sign post pushed the rear quarter panel in. The head of the sign whipped over and came through the back window. I ended up setting with the passenger rear tire down in a swale---facing back the way I'd come.

The 409 had not made it nearly as far around the curve and was 25 yards out in the field. And to make it worse, he'd hit the far side of the ditch in such a way that he'd warped the frame enough to blow all the glass out of his car.

I ran over there and made sure that they were unhurt and then went back to my car. I was trying to figure out where to put the jack in order to change the tire when a guy I worked with at Ford’s Livonia Transmission Plant came along in his ‘40s Ford pick-up truck. He first pulled me back across the swale to flat ground and then drove out in the frozen field and fastened on to the Impala. We were almost to the corner at Levan Rd. so he hooked on and pulled the Chevrolet down through the intersection and further enough along so it wasn't visible.

I was there all by myself when the Wayne County Sheriff patrol car showed up. I claimed to not have been watching the speedometer and said I must have hit a patch of frost. They stayed, with their headlights on, until I changed the tire.

It cost me $400 to get the rear quarter-panel and back glass replaced and the top straightened. That was close to a month's take-home. (The car cost $2700) A couple of weeks later I got a bill from the county for $12.50 for the cost to replace the sign.

The Impala was totaled.

[FElony]

Meh. Technically accurate but a tad dry. Had me checking what a swale was. Must be a northern country thing.

OK, anybody here want me rewrite this story with a little zip?

[jayb]

I liked it, but I'd like to see your version too.  I fully expect to get more than I bargained for 

[cammerfe]

Meh. Technically accurate but a tad dry. Had me checking what a swale was. Must be a northern country thing.

OK, anybody here want me rewrite this story with a little zip?

I  was too busy to have time to wet my pants until it was all over. And by that time I no longer needed to. Your experience may be different.

KS

[shady]

It was the summer of '64 & I bought my first new car with the money I saved delivering newspapers, & my lunch money. Went up to Tasca Ford & in the show room was a shiny new Galaxie 427 light weight. Mom said nothing too fast, so I told her it was a 223 six popper. When my best bud Ralphie saw it he was so jealous he pested his dad, the town doctor, to buy him a Smokey Yunick prepped 409 Impotent. As you can imagine, it wasn't long before the inevitable happened. A few too many beers at the bowling alley & off we go. As I lined up with the Imp. I look over at Ralphie & his girl gives me a wink & climbs out to flag. As she drops her hands the Imp leaves first. Dammit, caught sleeping again. I bang second, gain half a car. I bang third, crushing my knuckles into the ashtray. Man, I've got to get me a Hurst. After that the Imp. fades into the dust. Figure I'll stretch out fourth just to rub Ralphie's dick in the dirt a little. Before I knew it, there was dead man's curve. Up into third, hard on the brakes, the Gal showed no signs of slowing. Gravel, dirt, & dust everywhere. The only thing that saved me was a signpost that kept me from going down a 1000 foot cliff. Whew, what a ride. She fired right up so I went back to see what happened to the 409. Low & behold, there it sat in a field all twisted up. I asked Ralphie what happened? He said he missed third & the 409 popped spraying oil on the back tires & spun out. When I asked him what happened to the busted windows he said when my Ford passed him, they just blew out. It cost me a few bucks to fix the Ford & mom was pissed, but she eventually got over it when I told her it happened when I tried to avoid hitting a deer. The Imp. was totaled & I guess Smokey was right after all, those damn W motors belong in a dang truck. If you are wondering what happened to Ralphie's girl? I married her, sold the 427 & bought a '66 wagon.

[fastback 427]

Now that's a cool story!!!

[cammerfe]

It was the summer of '64 & I bought my first new car with the money I saved delivering newspapers, & my lunch money. Went up to Tasca Ford & in the show room was a shiny new Galaxie 427 light weight. Mom said nothing too fast, so I told her it was a 223 six popper. When my best bud Ralphie saw it he was so jealous he pested his dad, the town doctor, to buy him a Smokey Yunick prepped 409 Impotent. As you can imagine, it wasn't long before the inevitable happened. A few too many beers at the bowling alley & off we go. As I lined up with the Imp. I look over at Ralphie & his girl gives me a wink & climbs out to flag. As she drops her hands the Imp leaves first. Dammit, caught sleeping again. I bang second, gain half a car. I bang third, crushing my knuckles into the ashtray. Man, I've got to get me a Hurst. After that the Imp. fades into the dust. Figure I'll stretch out fourth just to rub Ralphie's dick in the dirt a little. Before I knew it, there was dead man's curve. Up into third, hard on the brakes, the Gal showed no signs of slowing. Gravel, dirt, & dust everywhere. The only thing that saved me was a signpost that kept me from going down a 1000 foot cliff. Whew, what a ride. She fired right up so I went back to see what happened to the 409. Low & behold, there it sat in a field all twisted up. I asked Ralphie what happened? He said he missed third & the 409 popped spraying oil on the back tires & spun out. When I asked him what happened to the busted windows he said when my Ford passed him, they just blew out. It cost me a few bucks to fix the Ford & mom was pissed, but she eventually got over it when I told her it happened when I tried to avoid hitting a deer. The Imp. was totaled & I guess Smokey was right after all, those damn W motors belong in a dang truck. If you are wondering what happened to Ralphie's girl? I married her, sold the 427 & bought a '66 wagon.

Give me a call and we'll talk about paragraphing.

KS

[shady]

yeah, I looked at that when I was finished & it just seemed like too much bother. I just made it up as I was typing & I hate typing.

[FElony]

Meh. Technically accurate but a tad dry. Had me checking what a swale was. Must be a northern country thing.

OK, anybody here want me rewrite this story with a little zip?

I  was too busy to have time to wet my pants until it was all over. And by that time I no longer needed to. Your experience may be different.

KS

That's why I'm a professional and you're not. I can wet my pants in a split second and with great volume. Without even trying. Or noticing. Or caring. Practice makes perfect.

[cammerfe]

Meh. Technically accurate but a tad dry. Had me checking what a swale was. Must be a northern country thing.

OK, anybody here want me rewrite this story with a little zip?

I  was too busy to have time to wet my pants until it was all over. And by that time I no longer needed to. Your experience may be different.

KS

That's why I'm a professional and you're not. I can wet my pants in a split second and with great volume. Without even trying. Or noticing. Or caring. Practice makes perfect.

I've often noticed that about you.

KS

[FElony]

I liked it, but I'd like to see your version too.  I fully expect to get more than I bargained for 

At first I was just going to interject a few things here and there, but the difference in style was too great and it didn't flow very well. Yesterday I sat down with pencil and paper and worked a rough draft that loosely used Ken's version as a core. I placed it at a specific time and location, added a back story, more detail about the Galaxie and its acquisition, intensified the race, and provided an aftermath. No longer a "short short" story, it is dark and contains not a shred of humor.

Been years since I put a tale like that out into the netosphere. Most people view me as a joker, but. Considering that you are the only one that expressed any interest, I'm afraid that this will remain just an outline. Maybe others can do something with it.

"Swale (noun) - small whale, sometimes found next to a highway after a river overflows, large enough to be a Cetacea, yet compact enough to drag a Galaxie over."

[cammerfe]

One of my English professors was wont to say that virtually ANY subject could be the basis for a doctoral dissertation. As I suggested, this was intended to be a 'short-short' and not a novel.

The reference to 'Cetacia' is an extremely poor construction since it's plural so there is no such thing as 'a cetacea'. Singular is 'cetacean'.  You need to go back to third grade for a while.

You're wrong about the swale definition, too.

KS

[FElony]

One of my English professors was wont to say that virtually ANY subject could be the basis for a doctoral dissertation. As I suggested, this was intended to be a 'short-short' and not a novel.

It was not a suggestion, it was a statement. And, nobody has "suggested" that it should have been a novel. A dissertation at the doctoral level would have to be, among many things, unique, compelling, factual, and logical to achieve the actual academic results for which one strives. Therefor, I disagree with your English professor, as logic would not validate ANY subject as suitable. If that were the case, dissertations would be moot, with all the appeal of a bottle of Tums.

You're wrong about the swale definition, too.
KS

I "suggest" that my resource materials differ greatly from yours. 

[cammerfe]

Yours seem, as usual, to all be in your head.

KS

[FElony]

Yours seem, as usual, to all be in your head.

KS

Exactly. Isn't that the point of having your own style?

"Swale (regional) - The way a Southerner pronounces 'well' (e.g., "all swale that ends swale")."