In 1974, the federal government dropped the maximum speed on all interstate highways to 55 MPH. Called the "Double Nickel", it was meant to curtail oil consumption after the Middle East oil embargo. The trickle-down effect was notable in the automotive industry's car designs. Post embargo and double nickel, the 1974 Mustang II shed 500 pounds and 20 inches from its previous model year.
However, the Mustang that my family had was of 1970 vintage. It was definitely on the upswing in size and horsepower. And I used every bit of it. Looking back, some stunts (a lot, actually) are very cringe-worthy. But I can't bring myself to chastize younger me. What else was a 15 year old going to do with 220 horsepower?
The beaches of Florida were a traditional spring break/weekend destination back in high school. They were at known distances with well-established travel times, if you went the speed limit. When our group showed up earlier than expected on one outing, my buddy asked what time we left. When he realized I'd shaved nearly an hour off the drive, he just shook his head, "Y'all were flying."
Yes. Yes, we were.
I was once told, for all the times we actually do speed, we have no reason to grouse when we're finally tagged.
Decades later, I once filed travel plans that put me through 3 airports, 4 states, and 1 rental car in 12 hours. It was on this junket when I ran afoul of an Alabama State Trooper. It was late afternoon, I hadn't eaten, and I was just ready to call it a day. I didn't realize how fast I was going until I saw the flashing lights in my rearview.
On the shoulder off Alabama I-85, I rolled down my window. "Afternoon, Trooper." The guy was all business.
"License and registration, if you would, sir."
I gave him my driver's license and rental car agreement. "You're out of Maryland?"
"Yes, sir." He scanned my rental agreement.
"You flew into Atlanta?"
"Yes, sir."
"And now you're passing through Alabama?"
"Yes, sir." This was not looking good.
"What brings you down our way?"
"Business trip."
"And what business would that be?"
"I'm in IT." I realize I'm being vague. That, coupled with my unusual travel pattern was setting off all kinds of flags with this guy.
"What's your final destination?" Well, crap.
"I can't say."
"Come again?"
"Trooper, it's classified." He calmly regarded me and cocked an eyebrow. I know that look. I use that look. Raising one eyebrow in a conversation is my non-verbal "Bullshit."
"Well, I suppose you can back that statement up?" I pulled out my credentials and handed them over.
"I'll be right back." He strode back to his cruiser, and I saw him get on his radio. A slow 10 minutes pass. I'm thinking I'm going to have to fly back down for traffic court, my security officer will be giving me hell, and someone back at the office is going to charge me a lunch offense for having to cover several more of my shifts.
The trooper eventually sauntered back, returned my creds, and hooked his thumbs into his uniform belt. Still regarding me with a slightly raised eyebrow, he slowly grinned and extended his right hand. I was more than a little shocked but reciprocated. "Slow this rig down, Hoss. Y'all have a good day."
"Yes, sir, trooper." I never found out who was on the other end of the phone call he made.
These days, my daily driver calculates MPG and I find myself trying to goose that number as high as I can like I'm playing a geriatric version of Grand Theft Auto. However, on long road trips, my GPS gives me an ETA to the next waypoint, and like most every one of you, I still view that as a "time to beat".
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