After yesterday’s “heavy” post about Chris Hedges’ book, I’m thinking something lighter and more fun would be appropriate. So, let’s look at this dead yute …
Story is in today’s NY Post.
Some kid in a high speed illegal drag race in Queens slams into a tree. That’s his body covered up on the ground. If you look straight up you’ll see his severed leg dangling from the window.
My first reaction was — “Well tough shit for you, you dumbass!“. But, then I thought about my own days as a Yute … and I realized “There but for the grace of God go I!!“.
Q: What dumbass thing have YOU done on wheels (car, motorcycle, ATV, etc.)?
=================================================== =
Me?
Destroying Dad’s 1965 Bonneville: It was 1970. Another section of Highway 287 was just completed, and it was sparsely trafficked. One day my buddy Neal and I were driving it, and we both decided it would be cool to see how fast that Bonneville could go. I know it goes faster than 125mph cuz that’s how high the speedometer goes … and I buried it. “Sparsely” does not mean empty. We passed several cars on that two lane highway at breathtaking pace … could have been a fucking disaster.
Dumbass me just wouldn’t let up on the accelerator though! Suddenly, we hear a loud bang and see black smoke in the rear view mirror. At this point I decided to slow down … not that I had much choice. I have no idea how we were able to hobble to a gas station. Turns out car engines have something called a “rocker arm” and several of them broke. It cost almost as much as dad paid for this (used) car. I told dad I had no idea what happened. So, he paid for it, and vowed never to buy a damned Pontiac again. EPILOGUE: I finally told dad the whole truth a few years ago, 40+ years after it happened. He was so pissed he didn’t talk to me for a few weeks.
Driving Exhausted: I was discharged from the USAF in Victorville, CA. I left the base exactly at noon on a Friday ……… I was in class in college (Intro to Computers) in New Jersey at 9AM, Monday. That folks, is some serious driving!! I truly fell asleep at the wheel and went off road … TWICE. Once in Arizona, and also in Pennsylvania. The AZ one wasn’t that big a deal — I wound up in sand. That I feel asleep in PA on Route 80 without hitting a tree is pretty much a fucken miracle.
Motorcycle Madness: I had a Yamaha 850 for maybe two years … not a lot of experience. I hardly rode it and when I did it was usually longer trips with guys who had those big Honda Goldwings. They made fun of me cuz me being so tall I kind of looked ridicules on that little 850. So, one day I decide to give a Goldwing a spin. And just like my dumbfuk Bonneville days I just couldn’t stop accelerating. The Honda topped out at about 128mph. Nothing else to report … except it really scared the living shit out me, afterwards. The run was on a rural Indiana road. I could have hit a deer or cow.
zzz
Oh my, too many stories to tell. Yes, but for the grace of God go I.
I received a brand new mustang GT after HS. Baaaaaad idea.
Spring break in Ocean City, a car cut us off. We were driving in a 4×4 ford pickup. I stood up out of the passenger side window and threw my beer bottle at the car. Broke out the back window. We took off and parked the truck behind the house we rented and took off on foot to the bars.
Stooooooopid.
Now Stucky, you owe me an answer on my Wip Wondering.
Nothing to say on your wondering. I rarely go to a doctor. Other than teenypeckeritus, I have had no major health issues in my life … knock on wood.
Good for you Stucky. I would have thought you might have had some health issues from all that chicken choking. 🙂
Well one night my buddies and I were coming back to town from a Beach Party at Melmerby. So were driving thru Little Harbour and just aboot everyone is drunk in car. My Brother is driving cuz it was his turn to be DD, a term used with lets just say generous parameters.
It is a 4 door POS 1974 Ventura… something like this
except red.
So the Pioneer Stereo is blasting some heavy Metal
Maybe it was OZZY
Maybe not..
Anyways at some point everyone near a window, excepting the driver of course thought it a good idea to climb out of car and get on roof.. with the car moving… So my Brother is Driving and here we are singing along and drinking beer…
We didn’t scratch anything
I loved that piece of shit car..
Good Times…
O jeez. Ridin on the roof of my wasted buddys dodge charger in a lawn chair. Like 5 miles down the road spitting sparks because he only had a rim on the right rear after doin a burnout til the tire exploded, then spinning it off the rim in a shower of sparks and rubber.
Better to have killed himself, than some innocent bystander. They can pick that guy with a sponge.
1968-69 (can’t quite remember) I had a 429 Fairlane, Fastback. I went the Penn State at the time. I would drive I-80, between Allentown and State College, because it wasn’t completed (near Pittsburg) , not much traffic. I came over a hill doing about 80. Right there is a State Trooper holding a radar gun. I punched it, and watched the cop disappear in my rear view mirror. Eventually exited, and cooled it for a while at a diner.
Quite a few adventures in my 78 Bronco-HS days. Don’t ask-don’t tell.
In the truly “not my fault” category, I was coasting down the hill from home for a morning (6A, still dark) bicycle ride, came around a turn I’ve done hundreds of times (30mph?) and hit a deer. “Came to” sliding on my hands and feet. Yes, I had a helmet mounted light, no, I didn’t have time to hit brakes.
On my ninja i did more stupid shit than i can possibly relate. Dumped it 3 times. Lucky i didnt get mamed or killed. Plenty bruised up though. Yay leathers. Got a ticket doing 143 mph, but i had her up faster than that. Freakin photo radar got me. Pretty much same story in the firebird. Same speeds. Wrecked a couple times. Again very lucky. Built ram air III 400. Wish i could get that fucker back.
I had a ’72 TA that I bought with a blown up Yenko 455 HO. I got a Ram Air III 400 from a GTO. Supposed 366hp plus whatever I got from the Holley spread bore double pumper. Never wrecked her but I have no doubt she’d be all rusted out like everything else that didn’t reside in the Southwest. The handling was likely the best you could get back in that time. Only stuff like a 911 Porsche could outperform it on the skid pad test. We “outran Motorola” a couple of times too.
My ram air came out of a gto. Made over 400 hp at the rear wheels on the dyno after just a little bit of motor work. Was knockin like a bastard when i bought it. 4 bolt steel crank, 2.11 intake 1.77 exhaust 11:1 heads, and built from there. Reliable ddaily driver hotrod that got 16mpg if i drove like a normal human being, and did 12.15 at the track saturday night. Even built the suspension, adjustable shocks and anti sway with neoprene bushings both ends. Furnace went in my first house not 2 months after we moved in. Car had to go. Fun for a good long time.
I had to replace those sway bar bushings a couple of times a year. She really ate ’em up. I turned it into a high speed cruiser. It came with a 10 bolt 4.10 or 4.33 screw. I put in a 3.42. Before that you could light ’em up at any time. Too easily for practical purposes. I found the old ring and pinion in my folk’s garage when we sold the house.
I had my Kawasaki ER6N 750 (stripped down Ninja) up to 205km/127 mph last year before I sold it due to arthritis in my hands. I turned 70 last June. I did more stupid things in airplanes than cars or bikes and I am lucky to be alive. While flying a Piper Cherokee 140 from Maui to Oahu I slowed the aircraft down until it was in ground effect a few feet over the water and rode up and down the huge ground swells common in the open Pacific. At one point while in the trough we passed a sailboat that was actually higher than us on the crest of the swell.
In the summers, during college, I went to Cape Cod to carry brick and block for my uncle. All week long we worked hard long hours and on the weekends we would go to dances and spend our days surfing on Lighthouse beach. One weekend I picked up this outrageous babe at a dance and invited her along for our surfing trip the next day. I drove my uncles old ford pickup with me, my “date” and my friend in the front. The boards and a couple of other guys were in the back. All day long we surfed the shit waves and hung out at the beach. On the way home we had to drop off one of the guys in Orleans which is on the way to Chatham where my uncles house is.
I took a Hersey bar and stuck half of the the thing in my mouth. She said give me some, so I turned and she took half in her mouth. When our lips touched, I blanked. Nothing else existed. I drove straight off the road missing a telephone pole by inches and taking out the guy wire that supported the pole. We came to rest, no one was hurt, in the parking lot which because it was Sunday, was empty. Once we had all figured out that nobody had any injuries, I looked at the front of the truck. A nice big crease was in the bumper and the hood. I knew that everybody in Orleans knew my uncle and they all knew his truck so there was no running. I drove straight to the police station and told the cop at the desk what I had done. He looked down at my bare feet and suggested that perhaps my foot had slipped. I said no. He and I walked out of the station and as he came around the corner of the truck he saw the girl in a very small bikini sitting on the edge of the seat. His response was “OH, I see.”
My uncle took it well and that Ford truck ran with those scars for many years. The girl was a druggy by the next summer and I never saw her again. The town repaired the pole and my uncle never got a bill.
Now that was a kiss.
You Blanked!
Is that when you stopped believing in Jebus..
I never heard of “Jebus”. Is he/she your gay, child molesting cousin???
Geeeze some one just got….
Stang you best get sum creme for that butthurt… its unbecoming.. Don’t beleieve me, just ash my best bud flash….
Why yes he is. How did you know?
Wait. Hollywood Rob likes girls?
Anon was me.
My little brother and I, 13 and 11 at the time would drive our dad’s 69 chevelle up and down the drive way.
Then we grew bigger little balls and drove his 64 Lincoln Continental with suicide doors around the neighborhood.
We had a mini bike that had a gear that made it slow, we reversed the gear to make it super fast, oldest brother almost killed us for doing this.
Good times, amazing were here to talk about it.
Although there were two others before under different monikers, this was an excerpt from the third stand-alone article I posted here on TBP:
I went out drinking with friends on New Years Eve. At 2 AM, everybody else went home. Pansies. Me bulletproof. I bought more beer, decided to play Richard Petty and took a 15 mph banked curve at 50 in a light rain. Broke a telephone pole 5 ft off the ground. Beer exploded. Bed full of empty beer cans and the front end of my truck. Me? Not a scratch. No DUI. Totaled the truck and bought a pocket rocket. Sometimes I even scare myself.
I would bet not a single woman will comment on this post other than…
“Damn, men be dumber than fuck”.
There is a residential street in Detroit named Ashland, on this street there used to be a bridge over a small canal. The bridge was arched very high over the water so boats could pass. We used to try and time the traffic lights on Jefferson (main rd.) so we could hit the “Ashland Bump” as fast as we could. Back in 70’s we had old Dodges and Plymouths and it was a right of passage to jump the “bump”. If we timed it just right the car would leave the ground and come slamming down the other side . When your are 17 you don’t realize someone could have easily gotten killed. We all survived the “Ashland Bump” but I recently ran into an old high school buddy who claims his back problems are directly related to the “Ashland Bump”
“When you are 17 you don’t realize someone could have easily gotten killed. ”
Was going to add my own story; but that sentence pretty much sums it up.
@Stucky: EPILOGUE: I finally told dad the whole truth a few years ago, 40+ years after it happened. He was so pissed he didn’t talk to me for a few weeks.
Once you’ve lied – never give it up.
Slightly different, but still stupid.
I was about 21, driving from school to my co-op job on a long straight 2-lane road in Virginia in the middle of the day. Speed limit was 55, as were all upper limits back in the bad old days of Tricky Dicky’s double nickel. I was going about 70. Crappy ordinary car, 73 Gremlin. A real toad. I slowly approached a pair of vehicles. They were going about 62 to 64 mph. The front car was steady in the right lane, but the car behind him was some kind of pickup truck, I think. Not sure. He was weaving back and forth in both lanes, making it impossible to pass. Finally that guy kinda stayed in his lane enough for me to pass. I gunned it up to 75 and went around both cars.
There was nobody else on the road, and I could see for a very long way, so it wasn’t very dangerous. I happened to look in the rear-view and saw, to my horror, that the rear car was an unmarked cop. The guy in front was totally oblivious, and I surmised that the cop had been following him for miles trying to get him to see the flashing lights in his grill. I could see the cop’s face, and he was mad. Really mad.
About the time I got around them and figured it was a cop chasing an idiot, the idiot driving the front car saw the lights and started to slow down. I watched the cop look at me with a glare, then at him, then at me, then at him. He was slowing down to pull over, and the cop stayed with him.
Instead of slowing down, I stayed at 75. They disappeared quickly in the mirror as the cop must have been madder at the idiot than me. What a close call.
totaled ’66 GTO with 4 of us in it…we all walked away. Highway dept left a 4 ft. rock on the inside lane overnight. Of course there was a bit of ‘shine involved, too.
Crime against humanity. Those were beautiful. I always loved the Big Chief and hated to see them go. As a “responsible adult” ahem, I had a gorgeous 1990 Bonneville SSE. Later I had a 2005 Bonneville GXP. The only car I have ever had since the 1990 that holds a candle to it is my 2013 Avalon Touring.
Autobahn 7 in 1994 in a 1985 beater M3 with balls at 160mph in a different state of mind. On my Gixxer 1100 pegged at 170 doing dumb shit. Scary part was getting flashed by Lambos and Ferraris in the fast lane lmao. Was fine in Germany driving like that, but no fucking way would I ever ride a bike here in Florida. Ahh to be youthful and full of shit with Zero Fucks Given again.
I’ve done all kinds of dangerous, stupid, and ill-advised things. Cars, trucks, bikes, explosives, firearms, sharp and pointy things, high places, sports, professions, and just-for-fun-hold-my-beer stuff.
Why does my doing any of that shit change the “Well tough shit for you, you dumbass!” comment?
I haven’t managed any wheels fuckups but everyone around me has.
My younger brother had a job that paid unlimited overtime, so he was working 15 hours a day, seven days a week when he fell asleep at the wheel and woke up IN the oncoming lanes of I-90 near Cleveland. He spun the wheel and went across all the lanes and down a 20 foot embankment. The front of the car resembled an accordion. Some guy saw the whole thing and stopped, and came over to see what was left. He told my brother “Jesus Christ kid, you’re lucky to be alive”. After that he took a day off every week.
My youngest brother moved to a rural area and got a job that started at 3 am. First week there he realized he missed the street, so he went down the next one and made a wide turn in his GMC Sierra dualie. In the dark he went too wide, and rolled it down a steep hill. Guy in a house at the bottom heard a ruckus and came out with a flashlight to see a big white truck up in a tree, called 911. He got a cut knee and concussion. Paramedics said that from where the truck hit if it had been four inches smaller he’s have been killed. Truck was a total loss.
The SO was on a motorcycle going REAL fast down a road he’d been down before. Unfortunately some moron decided to put in a speed bump. He hit it doing over 100 and went up in the air, with the motorcycle coming down on top of him. He pushed it away but hit the ground hard. Next thing he remembered was hearing screaming, then realizing it was him. A guy saw it and came over and puked. His arm was compound fractures into splinters, a military doctor fixed it with lots of pins and screws but he has a big scar.
It was 1968 and me and my buddy Jerry had just enlisted in the United States Marine Corps and we were leaving in 13 days for Parris Island.
We were both 18 and being under age to drink in NJ (it was 21) we went to Staten Island (where it was 18) to celebrate! We got rip roaring, fallen down, ludicrous drunk. (If you have never been ludicrous drunk it is far worse then Warp Factor 10 drunk).
I had a powder blue 60 Olds 98 rag top. With the top down it was like driving a powerful big speed boat. Jerry bet me 20 bucks he could light a cigarette (with the top down) going 100 MPH. I said no way. The ludicrous bet was on!
At about 3 AM we were flying down the 4 lanes of Highland Boulevard heading towards the Outer Bridge crossing with no other car in sight in either direction while I was driving screaming out the MPH milestones….80…85…90…95…100!!!
Jerry was striking match after match to no avail. I’m screaming and howling and laughing, then out of nowhere we hit a low spot in the road and the 98 bellied and bounced and swerved crossing into the oncoming two lanes almost out of control!
I was fighting the steering wheel to cut back and stay on the road and get back into my two lanes. We almost flipped as I had over corrected the big car rocking with violent shudder shakes, lightly tapping the brakes the car suddenly straightened out and I had control back. I let out a huge sigh of relief…then the horror came over me as I looked to my right…Jerry was gone!!!
I screamed in high pitched shock like a woman!!! He must of bounced out! I had just killed my best friend!
Then I head a curse from the back seat and a match strike. I lunged up and looked back and there was Jerry laying on the couch sized back seat on his back smoking a cigarette. He looked up at me and belched then said in a drunken slur: “One more time double or nothing?”
Six months later we were both in Vietnam where it was much safer.
Dumb shit at high speed? I could write a book. Maybe several
Driving from Montreal to Calgary solo in 48 hours with an 8 ball and an ounce of hash is up there but probably not as stupid as mounting those ski bindings to the hood of my ’76 Nova ( with fucking rivets) and taking turns putting the ski boots on and trying to hit a 100 mph.
Driving from DC to Rehoboth Delaware high on 8 hits of acid with 4 dudes and my girlfriend in an ’81 Honda Civic was a trip. Every time the tires scraped the wheel wells I would pull over and try and figure out what the noise was, not thinking of the 850lbs of human cargo in the tiny car,..Once we dropped the 4 dudes off in Baltimore and crossed the Chesapeake Bay bridge, I got out and lay on the hood of the car, watched the stars and tried really hard to CALM the Fuck Down.
I can go on and on,…
We can all write books about how we should be dead and are probably not smarter for it.
My first of many big fuck ups, but certainly not my worst fuck up with a motor vehicle was when I was 15 before I had a drivers license. I was rally car racing my mom’s 1970 IH Scout 800B with the 304 V8 on dirt roads high in the Rockies with my two dogs. I had the thing in a perfect four wheel drift going around a beautiful sweeper with the pedal mashed to the floor. I drifted just a bit farther outside than intended and fell into a rut that flipped the Scout. I mean flipped. It landed back on it’s wheels with only one very small dent in the roof. It was just enough to pop the windshield out, so I had some ‘splaining to do, but other than the missing windshield and a very minor dent no big deal, not even a scratch.
When the car came to a rest in a huge cloud of dust somehow the passenger door popped open and the smart dog was asshole over elbows to get the fuck out of the car. The stupid dog followed him. The first thing I did was to get out and look all around to make sure that there were no witnesses to what I’d just done. Then I felt an urgent need to get the hell out of there before someone came along wanting to help, so I called the dogs to get back in the car. The stupid one jumped right in ready for more exciting adventures. The smart one said, “no fucking way, pal”. It took me a half hour to catch that dog and pick him up and carry him back to the car. The closer we got to the car the more he struggled to get loose. When I threw him in he was squirming kicking and fighting me like a demon. After that he refused to ever get in a car that I was driving.
17 years old +72 Camaro SS + fondness for beer = every body panel smashed in various crashes.
In high school my friend Dave decided it would be a good idea to do “nitrous oxide hits” at about 60 mph. He passed out, ran through a light…. I grabbed the wheel and drove blind off the road. Car came to rest between the uprights of a billboard, we were pinned in and could not get out. Gas station attendant pulled us out with a tow truck. The front rims looked like pac men from hitting the curb at 60. We called Dave “Evil Kneivel” for years. His mom’s escort never did drive right after that, bent frame. Lucky to be alive.
We were both at a loss to explain the 200 or so nitrous canisters on the dashboard to the cops….. I stashed the bag of weed in a bush before they showed up, but there was no hiding the dozens of empty beer bottles and cooler full of michelob in the trunk, so we both got arrested for underage possession, Dave got a DUI, reckless driving.
This was the beginning of a crime spree that got us both locked up several times.
As a young married, I thought I would save gasoline money and time with a bike. I got a Yamaha XJ-550RK, a black-and-red monster that would do far more than I needed (or was safe with). I rode it back and forth to work in Bakersfield, CA for a year or two.
I laid it down twice to keep from serious collisions with things, mobile or otherwise. I finally gave it up and sold what was left of it for parts.
Here’s the thing: I usually rode wearing a gray leather jacket, red-black-white helmet, blue jeans and black leather boots. Sitting up straight, I was taller than anything less than a full-sized Ford F-150 truck; I was nearly six feet tall and over 200 lbs. I was hard to miss, unless you were intoxicated. But every day people would NOT SEE ME and do really stupid and dangerous things, cutting me off or changing lanes right beside me; it was too dangerous to continue, and I let my wife argue me into reason and quit riding.
If I had to (dire need and lack of alternatives) I would ride one again. But not unless something like a medical emergency or life-saving transport was required; too many car drivers are not competent to share the road with bikes.
Too many psycho antics in cars, on motorcycles, drugs…..How we all made it defies logic. The QOTD brought back many many good times and cherished memories. Thanks for that. Blessing for all who did much less and paid the ultimate price.
I have been absolutely blessed and I know not why.