The Long Run Home

I was laying down a grooving bass line for a home recording when I saw him pull in the driveway with the car he bought “for Mama”…a 1988 Oldsmobile Cutlass Calais two door, grey with dark grey trim, alloy wheels and the hot, 150 horsepower DOHC turbocharged motor that fed through a five speed manual transmission. I put down the bass and dashed out to see the hot little ride he just exited. Jackie Johnson was as radiant as a Coleman lantern, the grin stretching crookedly from ear to ear. “Hottamighty, Scooter….what you think of this? Buddy Parker just gave me a heck of a deal on it, and your Mama is gonna love it. Wanna drive?” With that, he tossed me the key and I circled the little Oldsmobile, thinking it might be a bit sporty for dear old Mom but what the heck? She deserves a sporty ride!

I slid in behind the steering wheel and fired it up as JB eased in the passenger seat and orated the sales pitch as if he were selling it to me…”You see, this is a 1988 Oldsmobile Cutlass Calais with the sixteen valve dual overhead cam turbocharged motor with power everything! Windows, mirrors, seats, even the trunk can be adjusted, moved or opened via switches. It has the premium sound package, leather interior and check out the wood grained trim around the dash. That is a good look, in my opinion. Boy, your Mama will be all the talk when she and Cinda meet up for a Wendy’s hamburger!” It was pretty easy to see through the charade of automobile ownership and recognize the situation in reality….Daddy had a new toy!

I twisted the key and the Quad-4 motor barked to life, the boost gauge slowly rising to indicate the turbo was spooling up to provide boost. I backed out the driveway, snicked the short-throw shifter into first and rolled away in a somewhat civilized manner, and as soon as I had the nose of the Olds pointed Southward down McCall Avenue I planted my right foot firmly into the ass of that Quad-4 and when the turbo lag caught up I was rewarded with an acceleration that pinned me in the seat and drew the wheel from my light grip as I surprisingly recovered, then repeated the exercise with a firm grip on the wheel. This thing was “Hotter-than-Cooter Jenkins” fast, and I found it as delightful as JB!

I turned it around at the end of McCall Avenue and ran up through the gears once again, the Quad-4 responding aggressively to the turbocharger and providing that satisfying g-force that pinned you into the seat. One hundred fifty horsepower in a lightweight body was a lot of fun to play with, and the sanity returned after being allowed to cast its direction away from my actions and we drove back to the folk’s house. I saw the reflection of my own self in his excitement over this car, as he was fiddling with every accessory the Olds offered. He was a kid on Christmas morning.

A few months had gone by and “Miss Shirley” (Matt’s teasing name for Mama and yet another tale to tell) had acclimated fairly well with the Oldsmobile. Of course, she had no clue about the performance of that amazing little four cylinder engine that was eager to be unleashed as soon as the tachometer slipped past 4500 rpm and the turbocharger boost was in the green. She didn’t seem to mind driving a manual transmission car and she did claim to feel a bit kicky whenever she met up with friends or pulled up in the DSS parking lot. It seemed that JB had hit the game-winning home run with this one, and no one could agree more than Matt.

Matt had been given the opportunity to test drive the Olds when JB bought it, and Matt eagerly pounced. He recounted the same tale as mine, how it unexpectedly accelerated like being shot out of a cannon and losing your grip on the steering wheel because you weren’t expecting much out of a four-cylinder motor. Matt was sans his SCDL at the time, thanks to multiple DUI arrests but that never stopped him from pursuing his dream of being a race car driver. He was never big on NASCAR or drag racing. Matt liked the Formula 1 and IMSA GT racing on road courses, and really loved the Rally racing, done with highly-modified AWD cars on a mixture of paved and unpaved roads. He excelled at the style of driving needed to negotiate left and right turns at a high rate of speed while maintaining directional control. He could make a turn at 60 mph without losing control by first swerving opposite the direction of the desired turn and then whipping the car sideways by turning the wheel in the direction of the desired turn, allow the car to enter a broadslide (what is known in the popular vernacular of the present as a “drift”) and float around a corner with thaumaturgical ease that reminded one of the Duke boys, being chased by Enos and Sheriff Roscoe P Coltrane. Often I had marveled at the ease at which he faced unnerving situations, and had wished I had such a gift!

Matt was born to drive, and he did exactly what any guy that was approaching his thirties, lived at home with his parents and had lost a license due to DUI would do; and that was to wait til both parents were sound asleep, fish the keys out of Mama’s purse and go scooter-pooting around town, looking for trouble! One night, he decided to take the Oldsmobile out for a spin to see what it was capable of doing and to pick up a twelve-pack of Coors Light. The following was his recanting of the events of the eight hours following the decision to see what it could do:

“I drove down the bypass and stopped at Auto Fountain to buy a twelve, and a city policeman saw me get in the car with it. I got back on the bypass and headed toward McColl and he followed me for a little bit, then turned at Kress and went back toward downtown. I drove to Pizza Hut, turned left up Tyson Avenue where I got my foot in it. I passed the same policeman on Fayetteville Avenue at about 60 mph, and he whipped around and threw on the blue light. I jumped on it, blistered down Fayetteville Avenue and turned right on Parsonage Street and flew down to Main Street, the policeman about two blocks behind me. I turned left onto Main Street and by the time I turned left onto Broad Street he was on Main Street in front of Miller-Thompson’s, lights flashing and siren wailing. Once I was on Broad Street I pinned it and held it to the floor as I rowed through the gears. I crossed the intersection of Broad Street and 15-401 at over 100 mph and as I blew the intersection, I saw in the rear-view mirror the city policeman shut off the blue light and turned his car around. I guess he gave up the chase. I kept on going on 38 south, and made my way off 38 and onto Salem Road, heading anywhere but town and seeking somewhere to hide for a few hours. I kept going on Salem Road, all the way to Drake when I lost control in the sharp curve between the mill pond and Davis Wood Products and ran it up across a ditch and into the dirt embankment on the other side of the ditch. I tried for ten minutes to get it out of there and couldn’t get it to budge so the only thing I could do was start running. I’d run for awhile, jog then walk. I’d take a five-minute break and start over. Every time I saw headlights I’d dive into a ditch and hide until they passed. I just knew the Highway Patrol would catch me if I didn’t hide, and I had a plan. It took about four hours, but I made it home. I slipped Mama’s keys in her purse as it was getting light and as I got into bed and my breathing had slowed the phone rang. I heard JB talking and knew what it was about. Not seven seconds after he had hung up he flung open my bedroom door and commanded me to get my ass out of bed and go with him. I played the part and griped that I didn’t want to go anywhere but back to bed but he knew better and said I had about five seconds to get up before he would go get the chainsaw and get me up. I rolled out and poured a cup of coffee and asked what was going on. He replied that I damn well knew what was going on, and asked about the Olds. I told him that I had been in bed all night and that someone must have stolen it, then asked if the keys were in it. He said he didn’t know and checked Mama’s purse where he found her keys. I told him that means someone must have stolen her car last night and wrecked it, tough loss and thank goodness no one was hurt! JB had a look of disgust mixed with admiration on his face, and didn’t say a word. Later that day it got towed back home, and Daddy kept his silence about it.”

Matt and I measured the distance he ran....eleven miles. Daddy took the loss on the Olds and was crushed about his toy. He bought her a small Chevrolet that she drove for years, one that he figured Matt wouldn't want to be seen in. He should have used a little introspection. Have a Rice Day, y'all!