Igor, are you still confused?

Someone contacted me recently to say that they had read The Miata Chronicles III and they were confused. They said they liked it, but couldn’t figure out what was going on. I asked if they had read parts I and II. They said no.

Well, that’s like reading the last chapter of a book and not understanding why the hero didn’t get the girl. The Miata Chronicles is a 3 part series. Start at the beginning with part I. Then read parts II and III. Then and only then will YOU be smart like me and know stuff.

Got that, Igor?

Man's Best Friend

In this world of uncertainty, there is one thing I know to be true. My dog Jake loves me. He has loved me from the moment he chose me. I can take out the trash, walk to the mailbox, pickup a few bits of litter from the lawn, and all the while he is watching me from the window. When I step back into the house ten minutes later he races around the room, jumps up to lick my face, and almost knocks me over in the process. He is really glad to see me. You’d have thought I’d been gone for a month.

So what does this have to do with the automotive world? Nothing. It’s my blog, and I was told by The Blog Nazi ( my nephew Andy) that I could write whatever I wanted to. BUT, this is a darn cute little ditty, so just read it and shut up.

Earlier today, someone laid a copy of this test on my desk and I liked it.

Man’s best friend….

A dog is truly man’s best friend.
If you don’t believe it, just try this simple experiment.

Put your dog and your wife in the trunk of the car for one hour.
When you open the trunk, who is really happy to see you!?

Point made.

Miata Chronicles III - Decapitation

Decapitation, It Only Hurts For A Little While

Along the far side of the huge parking lot is a drainage ditch. This is not your ordinary drainage ditch. This is the King Kong version. It’s very wide and very deep. The only thing between the parking lot and the ditch is an 8-inch high cement curb and a strip of grass about 10 feet wide before the drop-off. And we were racing straight for it.

At some point it occurred to me that he should begin slowing for the next turn, but he wasn’t. “Why isn’t he slowing down?” I thought. My anxiety level was quickly rising as we hurtled toward oblivion. Doesn’t he realize we’re not going to make the turn at this speed? I had an instant mental flash of what was probably going to occur. We would hit the curb, go airborne, crash on the far side and roll 5 or 6 times back into the ditch, decapitating both of us in the process. Can’t he see what’s about to happen? We were already far too close and going way to fast for any graceful last-chance maneuvers. Then I remembered; “HE’S BLIND! HE DOESN’T KNOW WE’RE GOING TO DIE”

I’ve only experienced sheer terror a few times in my life. This was one of those times. Somehow the words got from my brain to my mouth. I screamed, “HARD LEFT! HARD LEFT!” With the precision reflexes of a combat pilot, J.T. hit the brakes, downshifted, and swung the steering wheel counterclockwise until it locked. The force of the turn threw me hard against the passenger door. With my head and right arm hanging over the side, I watched as that cement curb rushed up to within inches of the tires as we raced past it. If those wide Potenza tires hadn’t gripped and we had struck that curb broadside, it would have flipped us into a death roll. If he had hesitated for even a fraction of a second, I would not be here to tell the story.

J.T. brought the car to a stop and shut off the engine. We sat there for several moments without speaking. Finally, I offered; “Well that was fun. Shall we go around again?” “No, John, I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day. I’d like to go home now,” he said softly. When I dropped him off at his house, he thanked me and told me that no one had ever done anything like that for him before.

He’s never asked me about the details of that brush with death, and I’ve never offered any. Maybe some things should be left that way.

Finito

Thanks For The Memories

I want to thank all of you who have responded to my blog with such kindness. As for that elderly woman who sends an unsigned letter to me every week, telling me I’ll never amount to anything, KNOCK IT OFF, MOM! I recognize your handwriting. And, to that jealous other blogger that accuses me of deliberately misspelling or making up words just to be cute, I say to you, “that is a compleat and udder lye”! I will not be intimated!

According our stats-tracker I seem to have developed somewhat of a cult following. Now there’s a scary thought for you! If you have joined my cult, you are a very sick person and need to seek counseling immediately!

Gort! Klaatu barada nikto!