Beware the Ides of March (and the Mechanic!)
It seemed like such a simple thing, a nice leisurely drive out to a country town to register my car out of the prying eyes of emission requirements. This is a legal loophole in this great state of Alaska, register it "out in the valley" outside of the Anchorage city proper and a smog test is not needed. I won't be driving the car more than 20 miles a week, so have no fear, staunch environmentalists...
Yes, a simple thing to ride out with my trusty mechanic, Lawrence, and see the sights on the way to the DMV. He pulls up at noon promptly when he said he would and was driving a nondescript sedan of some sort. Now I can't say I know Lawrence that well, only having met him a few days previously on a hi and by basis. My folks had warned me about getting rides from strangers...should've listened in this case. Gentlemen, start yer engines!
So I get in and the Alaskan 500 was off! Maybe the guy with the starting flag on the side of the road should've been a giveaway. I'm a little behind the learning curve. As he puffed away contentedly on a cigarette we jetted to the first stop sign. No worries. He just likes to push the envelope a little, Uh huh. Screeeech, and whiz bam-cathunk- we're leadfootin' our way through town like a couple of bank robbers fresh off of a heist. He said he was stopping for gas. I thought, oh cool, a chance to go back and retrieve some of my stomach a few blocks down...We then start out of town, he's inhaling a bear claw and guzzling down a Mountain Dew. Lawrence, I come to find out, is a native Alaskan, I've got 15 (or is that 17?) years under my belt, a legit "sourdough". Sour on the place, but not enough dough to leave! No no, Alaska is a state that grows on you. Like a fungus...He's got sort of a southern "Good Ol Boy" personna and is goodnaturedly joking away about this and that. "The wife is 8 months preggo and she's eatin marshmallows and pickles, it's crazy" he says...Then we hit the cloverleaf onramp about 60, yes ladies and gents, we've got some g-force happenin'. I'm flashing back to some page out of "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" and realizing that it appears I'm now living it, rather than reading it. Sheer terror is always much more fun up close and personal and-LIVE! Of course on the exterior, I'm cool as a veritable cucumber. "home, James..." et al....Then we hit the freeway. Immediately he guns it up to 80...or is it 90? I can't really tell, it seems that the speedometer is doing a dance between the two! I still can't recall what the make of this car is. I calmly ask if he's had any tickets...He laughs and says "oh, I've gotten a few, nothin' to worry about". All I know is if I was to drive this insanely, the troopers would be on me in a New Yawk second. Well, 4 minutes and 59 seconds later, a cop with ye olde flashing blue and red lights pulls around us. Yessiree...he's been busted!
The cop saunters up to the window and Lawrence almost absentmindly rolls it down.
"You were going 85 in a 65 zone" says John Law disgustedly.
"oh yeah, sorry--- I was just gabbing away and didn't notice..." he counters.
After the officer asks all the usual questions, Lawrence has none of the answers either the cop (or me!) want to hear-"uh, no I have no idea, I don't remember, my wife takes care of that" The cop reminds him that he's an adult and this is really lame. The cop takes my license, too, and repairs back to his car. And we wait. And wait. "Shoot, man, don't look all depressed now" he says, "he's probably pissed because his wife is sleeping around on him." Haw haw...he's a laugh a minute. I'm wondering if he's going to be arrested and he's doing standup. The cop comes up to the window which he's rolled back up...he waits...Lawrence is too busy smoking to notice. Right before I'm about to nudge him, the cop sighs and walks back to the car! Probably writing yet another ticket on some violation that he's making up on the spur of the moment! He comes back--this time Mr. Nascar notices him. Now we're gettin nowhere...
"I have 4 tickets for you...and my eyes glaze over as he reads them off, this has 4 points, blah blah blah, to a total of well over 800 dollars!! "And Mister, do you remember when I stopped you two months ago in that pickup? No? Well, I called your probation officer and this is the last time I'm going to warn you-next time you're going to jail!" I'm breathing a sigh of relief, then ask myself, he's on parole? For what? No, don't ask...I'm hearing Lawrence say in my mind, "oh, just a little manslaughter thing, I shot the guy 5 times by accident before I noticed the gun was loaded. We were just playin' around." And what else? Child molestation, credit card fraud? Nope, definately not going to ask.
I don't think I was ever happier to see a cop drive off-elapsed time on the shoulder-43 minutes! He calls and makes a couple of relaxed phone calls to the wife and the parole officer, it must be nice to be loved! He actually drives the speed limit, but I know that this is not something he does (or will do) very often in the future. We do the errand, are stuck behind a state trooper on the way back to town (thank God) . Probably an "escort" arranged by his "buddy" with the tickets. I swear, we're not in town for more than 30 seconds and he's got the pedal to the metal AGAIN! Screeeeeech! We actually go at least 65, whizzing by vehicles, almost clipping some of them. I'm reminded of that old song "Son, you're gonna drive me to drinkin' if you keep drivin' that Hot Rod Lincoln". Yes, telephone poles WERE going by like a picket fence! He mentions that we've gotten past 40 vehicles we didn't need to be behind as we jerk to a stop at the stoplight. Apparently in the Nascar Racing School he went to, they did cover proper traffic light etiquette. (Green-Go , Yellow-Gun It, and Red---Run the Sucker, Yee Haw! )
He let me off at my car...and oh so happy to be alive was I...So as a wise man once said,
Beware the Ides of the Mechanic...
Yes, a simple thing to ride out with my trusty mechanic, Lawrence, and see the sights on the way to the DMV. He pulls up at noon promptly when he said he would and was driving a nondescript sedan of some sort. Now I can't say I know Lawrence that well, only having met him a few days previously on a hi and by basis. My folks had warned me about getting rides from strangers...should've listened in this case. Gentlemen, start yer engines!
So I get in and the Alaskan 500 was off! Maybe the guy with the starting flag on the side of the road should've been a giveaway. I'm a little behind the learning curve. As he puffed away contentedly on a cigarette we jetted to the first stop sign. No worries. He just likes to push the envelope a little, Uh huh. Screeeech, and whiz bam-cathunk- we're leadfootin' our way through town like a couple of bank robbers fresh off of a heist. He said he was stopping for gas. I thought, oh cool, a chance to go back and retrieve some of my stomach a few blocks down...We then start out of town, he's inhaling a bear claw and guzzling down a Mountain Dew. Lawrence, I come to find out, is a native Alaskan, I've got 15 (or is that 17?) years under my belt, a legit "sourdough". Sour on the place, but not enough dough to leave! No no, Alaska is a state that grows on you. Like a fungus...He's got sort of a southern "Good Ol Boy" personna and is goodnaturedly joking away about this and that. "The wife is 8 months preggo and she's eatin marshmallows and pickles, it's crazy" he says...Then we hit the cloverleaf onramp about 60, yes ladies and gents, we've got some g-force happenin'. I'm flashing back to some page out of "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" and realizing that it appears I'm now living it, rather than reading it. Sheer terror is always much more fun up close and personal and-LIVE! Of course on the exterior, I'm cool as a veritable cucumber. "home, James..." et al....Then we hit the freeway. Immediately he guns it up to 80...or is it 90? I can't really tell, it seems that the speedometer is doing a dance between the two! I still can't recall what the make of this car is. I calmly ask if he's had any tickets...He laughs and says "oh, I've gotten a few, nothin' to worry about". All I know is if I was to drive this insanely, the troopers would be on me in a New Yawk second. Well, 4 minutes and 59 seconds later, a cop with ye olde flashing blue and red lights pulls around us. Yessiree...he's been busted!
The cop saunters up to the window and Lawrence almost absentmindly rolls it down.
"You were going 85 in a 65 zone" says John Law disgustedly.
"oh yeah, sorry--- I was just gabbing away and didn't notice..." he counters.
After the officer asks all the usual questions, Lawrence has none of the answers either the cop (or me!) want to hear-"uh, no I have no idea, I don't remember, my wife takes care of that" The cop reminds him that he's an adult and this is really lame. The cop takes my license, too, and repairs back to his car. And we wait. And wait. "Shoot, man, don't look all depressed now" he says, "he's probably pissed because his wife is sleeping around on him." Haw haw...he's a laugh a minute. I'm wondering if he's going to be arrested and he's doing standup. The cop comes up to the window which he's rolled back up...he waits...Lawrence is too busy smoking to notice. Right before I'm about to nudge him, the cop sighs and walks back to the car! Probably writing yet another ticket on some violation that he's making up on the spur of the moment! He comes back--this time Mr. Nascar notices him. Now we're gettin nowhere...
"I have 4 tickets for you...and my eyes glaze over as he reads them off, this has 4 points, blah blah blah, to a total of well over 800 dollars!! "And Mister, do you remember when I stopped you two months ago in that pickup? No? Well, I called your probation officer and this is the last time I'm going to warn you-next time you're going to jail!" I'm breathing a sigh of relief, then ask myself, he's on parole? For what? No, don't ask...I'm hearing Lawrence say in my mind, "oh, just a little manslaughter thing, I shot the guy 5 times by accident before I noticed the gun was loaded. We were just playin' around." And what else? Child molestation, credit card fraud? Nope, definately not going to ask.
I don't think I was ever happier to see a cop drive off-elapsed time on the shoulder-43 minutes! He calls and makes a couple of relaxed phone calls to the wife and the parole officer, it must be nice to be loved! He actually drives the speed limit, but I know that this is not something he does (or will do) very often in the future. We do the errand, are stuck behind a state trooper on the way back to town (thank God) . Probably an "escort" arranged by his "buddy" with the tickets. I swear, we're not in town for more than 30 seconds and he's got the pedal to the metal AGAIN! Screeeeeech! We actually go at least 65, whizzing by vehicles, almost clipping some of them. I'm reminded of that old song "Son, you're gonna drive me to drinkin' if you keep drivin' that Hot Rod Lincoln". Yes, telephone poles WERE going by like a picket fence! He mentions that we've gotten past 40 vehicles we didn't need to be behind as we jerk to a stop at the stoplight. Apparently in the Nascar Racing School he went to, they did cover proper traffic light etiquette. (Green-Go , Yellow-Gun It, and Red---Run the Sucker, Yee Haw! )
He let me off at my car...and oh so happy to be alive was I...So as a wise man once said,
Beware the Ides of the Mechanic...
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