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thefantom1
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"A Nice Morning Drive" by Richard S. Foster
[ Taken from Road &Track -- November 1973, pp.148-150 ]
It was a fine morning in March 1982. The warm weather and clear sky gave
promise of an early spring. Buzz had arisen early that morning, impatiently eaten
breakfast and gone to the garage. Opening the door, he saw the sunshine bounce
off the gleaming hood of his 15-year-old MGB roadster. After carefully checking
the fluid levels, tire pressures and ignition wires, Buzz slid behind the wheel and
cranked the engine, which immediately fired to life. He thought happily of the next
few hours he would spend with the car, but his happiness was clouded - it was not
as easy as it used to be.
A dozen years ago things had begun changing. First there were a few modest
safety and emission improvements required on new cars; gradually these became
more comprehensive. The governmental requirements reached an adequate level,
but they didn't stop; they continued and became more and more stringent. Now
there were very few of the older models left, through natural deterioration and . . .
other reasons.
The MG was warmed up now and Buzz left the garage, hoping that this early in
the morning there would be no trouble. He kept an eye on the instruments as he
made his way down into the valley. The valley roads were no longer used very
much: the small farms were all owned by doctors and the roads were somewhat
narrow for the MSVs (Modern Safety Vehicles).
The safety crusade had been well done at first. The few harebrained schemes
were quickly ruled out and a sense of rationality developed. But in the late
Seventies, with no major wars, cancer cured and social welfare straightened out.
the politicians needed a new cause and once again they turned toward the
automobile. The regulations concerning safety became tougher. Cars became
larger, heavier, less efficient. They consumed gasoline so voraciously that the
United States had had to become a major ally with the Arabian countries. The new
cars were hard to stop or maneuver quickly, but they would save your life (usually)
in a 5O-mph crash. With 200 million cars on the road, however, few people ever
drove that fast anymore.
Buzz zipped quickly to the valley floor, dodging the frequent potholes which had
developed from neglect of the seldom-used roads. The engine sounded spot-on
and the entire car had a tight, good feeling about it. He negotiated several quick
S-curves and reached 6000 in third gear before backing off for the next turn. He
didn't worry about the police down here. No, not the cops . . .
Despite the extent of the safety program. it was essentially a good idea. But
unforeseen complications had arisen. People became accustomed to cars which
went undamaged in lO-mph collisions. They gave even less thought than before to
the possibility of being injured in a crash. As a result, they tended to worry less
about clearances and rights-of-way, so that the accident rate went up a steady six
percent every year. But the damages and injuries actually decreased, so the
government was happy, the insurance industry was happy and most of the car
owners were happy. Most of the car owners-the owners of the non-MSV cars
were kept busy dodging the less careful MSV drivers, and the result of this
mismatch left very few of the older cars in existence. If they weren't crushed
between two 6000-pound sleds on the highway they were quietly priced into the
junkyard by the insurance peddlers. And worst of all, they became targets . . .
Buzz was well into his act now, speeding through the twisting valley roads with all
the skill he could muster, to the extent that he had forgotten his earlier worries.
Where the road was unbroken he would power around the turns in well controlled
oversteer, and where the sections were potholed he saw them as devious chicanes
to be mastered. He left the ground briefly going over one of the old wooden
bridges and later ascertained that the MG would still hit 110 on the long stretch
between the old Hanlin and Grove farms. He was just beginning to wind down
when he saw it, there in his mirror, a late-model MSV with hand-painted designs
covering most of its body (one of the few modifications allowed on post-1980
cars). Buzz hoped it was a tourist or a wayward driver who got lost looking for a
gas station. But now the MSV driver had spotted the MG, and with a whoosh of a
well muffled, well cleansed exhaust he started the chase . . .
It hadn't taken long for the less responsible element among drivers to discover that
their new MSVs could inflict great damage on an older car and go unscathed
themselves. As a result some drivers would go looking for the older cars in
secluded areas, bounce them off the road or into a bridge abutment, and then
speed off undamaged, relieved of whatever frustrations cause this kind of behavior.
Police seldom patrolled these out-of-the-way places, their attentions being required
more urgently elsewhere, and so it became a great sport for some drivers.
Buzz wasn't too worried yet. This had happened a few times before, and unless
the MSV driver was an exceptionally good one, the MG could be called upon to
elude the other driver without too much difficulty. Yet something bothered him
about this gaudy MSV in his mirror, but what was it? Planning carefully, Buzz let
the other driver catch up to within a dozen yards or so, and then suddenly shot off
down a road to the right. The MSV driver stood on his brakes, skidding 400 feet
down the road, made a lumbering U-turn and set off once again after the roadster.
The MG had gained a quarter mile in this manner and Buzz was thankful for the
radial tires and front and rear anti-roll bars he had put on the car a few years back.
He was flying along the twisting road, downshifting, cornering, accelerating and all
the while planning his route ahead. He was confident that if he couldn't outrun the
MSV then he could at least hold it off for another hour or more, at which time the
MSV would be quite low on gas. But what was it that kept bothering him about the
other car?
They reached a straight section of the road and Buzz opened it up all the way and
held it. The MSV was quite a way back but not so far that Buzz couldn't distinguish
the tall antenna standing up from the back bumper. Antenna! Not police, but
perhaps a Citizen's Band radio in the MSV? He quaked slightly and hoped it was
not. The straight stretch was coming to an end now and Buzz put off braking to the
last fraction of a second and then sped through a 75-mph right-hander, gaining ten
more yards on the MSV. But less than a quarter mile ahead another huge MSV
was slowly pulling across the road and to a stop. It was a CB set. The other driver
had a cohort in the chase. Now Buzz was in trouble. He stayed on the gas until
within a few hundred feet when he banked hard and feinted passing to the left. The
MSV crawled in that direction and Buzz slipped by on the right. bouncing heavily
over a stone on the shoulder. The two MSVs set off in hot pursuit, almost colliding
in the process. Buzz turned right at the first crossroad and then made a quick left,
hoping to be out of sight of his pursuers, and in fact he traveled several minutes
before spotting one of them on the main road parallel to his lane. At the same time
the other appeared in the mirror from around the last comer. By now they were
beginning to climb the hills on the far side of the valley and Buzz pressed on for all
he was worth, praying that the straining engine would stand up. He lost track of one
MSV when the main road turned away, but could see the other one behind him on
occasion. Climbing the old Monument Road, Buzz hoped to have time to get over
the top and down the old dirt road to the right, which would be too narrow for his
pursuers. Climbing, straining, the water temperature rising, using the entire road,
flailing the shift lever back and forth from 3rd to 4th, not touching the brakes but
scrubbing off the necessary speed in the corners, reaching the peak of the mountain
where the lane to the old fire tower went off to the left . . . but coming up the other
side of the hill was the second MSV he had lost track of! No time to get to his dirt
road. He made a panicked turn left onto the fire tower road but spun on some
loose gravel and struck a tree a glancing blow with his right fender. He came to a
stop on the opposite side of the road. the engine stalled. Hurriedly he pushed the
starter while the overheated engine slowly came back into life. He engaged 1st gear
and sped off up the road, just as the first MSV turned the corner. Dazed though he
was, Buzz had the advantage of a very narrow road lined on both sides with trees,
and he made the most of it. The road twisted constantly and he stayed in 2nd with
the engine between 5000 and 5500. The crash hadn't seemed to hurt anything and
he was pulling away from the MSV. But to where? It hit him suddenly that the road
dead-ended at the fire tower, no place to go but back . . .
Still he pushed on and at the top of the hill drove quickly to the far end of the
clearing, turned the MG around and waited. The first MSV came flying into the
clearing and aimed itself at the sitting MG. Buzz grabbed reverse gear, backed up
slightly to feint, stopped, and then backed up at full speed. The MSV, expecting
the MG to change direction, veered the wrong way and slid to a stop up against a
tree. Buzz was off again, down the fire tower road, and the undamaged MSV set
off in pursuit. Buzz's predicament was unenviable. He was going full tilt down the
twisting blacktop with a solid MSV coming up at him. and an equally solid MSV
coming down after him. On he went, however, braking hard before each turn and
then accelerating back up to 45 in between. Coming down to a particularly tight
turn, he saw the MSV coming around it from the other direction and stood on the
brakes. The sudden extreme pressure in the brake lines was too much for the rear
brake line which had been twisted somewhat in his spin, and it broke, robbing Buzz
of his brakes. In sheer desperation he pulled the handbrake as tightly as it would go
and rammed the gear lever into 1st, popping the clutch as he did so. The back end
locked solid and broke away, spinning him off the side of the road and miraculously
into some bushes, which brought the car to a halt. As he was collecting his senses,
Buzz saw the two MSVs, unable to stop in time, ram each other head on at over
40 mph.
It was a long time before Buzz had the MG rebuilt to its original pristine condition
of before the chase. It was an even longer time before he went back into the valley
for a drive. Now it was only in the very early hours of the day when most people
were still sleeping off the effects of the good life. And when he saw in the papers
that the government would soon be requiring cars to be capable of withstanding
75-mph headon collisions, he stopped driving the MG altogether
[ Taken from Road &Track -- November 1973, pp.148-150 ]
It was a fine morning in March 1982. The warm weather and clear sky gave
promise of an early spring. Buzz had arisen early that morning, impatiently eaten
breakfast and gone to the garage. Opening the door, he saw the sunshine bounce
off the gleaming hood of his 15-year-old MGB roadster. After carefully checking
the fluid levels, tire pressures and ignition wires, Buzz slid behind the wheel and
cranked the engine, which immediately fired to life. He thought happily of the next
few hours he would spend with the car, but his happiness was clouded - it was not
as easy as it used to be.
A dozen years ago things had begun changing. First there were a few modest
safety and emission improvements required on new cars; gradually these became
more comprehensive. The governmental requirements reached an adequate level,
but they didn't stop; they continued and became more and more stringent. Now
there were very few of the older models left, through natural deterioration and . . .
other reasons.
The MG was warmed up now and Buzz left the garage, hoping that this early in
the morning there would be no trouble. He kept an eye on the instruments as he
made his way down into the valley. The valley roads were no longer used very
much: the small farms were all owned by doctors and the roads were somewhat
narrow for the MSVs (Modern Safety Vehicles).
The safety crusade had been well done at first. The few harebrained schemes
were quickly ruled out and a sense of rationality developed. But in the late
Seventies, with no major wars, cancer cured and social welfare straightened out.
the politicians needed a new cause and once again they turned toward the
automobile. The regulations concerning safety became tougher. Cars became
larger, heavier, less efficient. They consumed gasoline so voraciously that the
United States had had to become a major ally with the Arabian countries. The new
cars were hard to stop or maneuver quickly, but they would save your life (usually)
in a 5O-mph crash. With 200 million cars on the road, however, few people ever
drove that fast anymore.
Buzz zipped quickly to the valley floor, dodging the frequent potholes which had
developed from neglect of the seldom-used roads. The engine sounded spot-on
and the entire car had a tight, good feeling about it. He negotiated several quick
S-curves and reached 6000 in third gear before backing off for the next turn. He
didn't worry about the police down here. No, not the cops . . .
Despite the extent of the safety program. it was essentially a good idea. But
unforeseen complications had arisen. People became accustomed to cars which
went undamaged in lO-mph collisions. They gave even less thought than before to
the possibility of being injured in a crash. As a result, they tended to worry less
about clearances and rights-of-way, so that the accident rate went up a steady six
percent every year. But the damages and injuries actually decreased, so the
government was happy, the insurance industry was happy and most of the car
owners were happy. Most of the car owners-the owners of the non-MSV cars
were kept busy dodging the less careful MSV drivers, and the result of this
mismatch left very few of the older cars in existence. If they weren't crushed
between two 6000-pound sleds on the highway they were quietly priced into the
junkyard by the insurance peddlers. And worst of all, they became targets . . .
Buzz was well into his act now, speeding through the twisting valley roads with all
the skill he could muster, to the extent that he had forgotten his earlier worries.
Where the road was unbroken he would power around the turns in well controlled
oversteer, and where the sections were potholed he saw them as devious chicanes
to be mastered. He left the ground briefly going over one of the old wooden
bridges and later ascertained that the MG would still hit 110 on the long stretch
between the old Hanlin and Grove farms. He was just beginning to wind down
when he saw it, there in his mirror, a late-model MSV with hand-painted designs
covering most of its body (one of the few modifications allowed on post-1980
cars). Buzz hoped it was a tourist or a wayward driver who got lost looking for a
gas station. But now the MSV driver had spotted the MG, and with a whoosh of a
well muffled, well cleansed exhaust he started the chase . . .
It hadn't taken long for the less responsible element among drivers to discover that
their new MSVs could inflict great damage on an older car and go unscathed
themselves. As a result some drivers would go looking for the older cars in
secluded areas, bounce them off the road or into a bridge abutment, and then
speed off undamaged, relieved of whatever frustrations cause this kind of behavior.
Police seldom patrolled these out-of-the-way places, their attentions being required
more urgently elsewhere, and so it became a great sport for some drivers.
Buzz wasn't too worried yet. This had happened a few times before, and unless
the MSV driver was an exceptionally good one, the MG could be called upon to
elude the other driver without too much difficulty. Yet something bothered him
about this gaudy MSV in his mirror, but what was it? Planning carefully, Buzz let
the other driver catch up to within a dozen yards or so, and then suddenly shot off
down a road to the right. The MSV driver stood on his brakes, skidding 400 feet
down the road, made a lumbering U-turn and set off once again after the roadster.
The MG had gained a quarter mile in this manner and Buzz was thankful for the
radial tires and front and rear anti-roll bars he had put on the car a few years back.
He was flying along the twisting road, downshifting, cornering, accelerating and all
the while planning his route ahead. He was confident that if he couldn't outrun the
MSV then he could at least hold it off for another hour or more, at which time the
MSV would be quite low on gas. But what was it that kept bothering him about the
other car?
They reached a straight section of the road and Buzz opened it up all the way and
held it. The MSV was quite a way back but not so far that Buzz couldn't distinguish
the tall antenna standing up from the back bumper. Antenna! Not police, but
perhaps a Citizen's Band radio in the MSV? He quaked slightly and hoped it was
not. The straight stretch was coming to an end now and Buzz put off braking to the
last fraction of a second and then sped through a 75-mph right-hander, gaining ten
more yards on the MSV. But less than a quarter mile ahead another huge MSV
was slowly pulling across the road and to a stop. It was a CB set. The other driver
had a cohort in the chase. Now Buzz was in trouble. He stayed on the gas until
within a few hundred feet when he banked hard and feinted passing to the left. The
MSV crawled in that direction and Buzz slipped by on the right. bouncing heavily
over a stone on the shoulder. The two MSVs set off in hot pursuit, almost colliding
in the process. Buzz turned right at the first crossroad and then made a quick left,
hoping to be out of sight of his pursuers, and in fact he traveled several minutes
before spotting one of them on the main road parallel to his lane. At the same time
the other appeared in the mirror from around the last comer. By now they were
beginning to climb the hills on the far side of the valley and Buzz pressed on for all
he was worth, praying that the straining engine would stand up. He lost track of one
MSV when the main road turned away, but could see the other one behind him on
occasion. Climbing the old Monument Road, Buzz hoped to have time to get over
the top and down the old dirt road to the right, which would be too narrow for his
pursuers. Climbing, straining, the water temperature rising, using the entire road,
flailing the shift lever back and forth from 3rd to 4th, not touching the brakes but
scrubbing off the necessary speed in the corners, reaching the peak of the mountain
where the lane to the old fire tower went off to the left . . . but coming up the other
side of the hill was the second MSV he had lost track of! No time to get to his dirt
road. He made a panicked turn left onto the fire tower road but spun on some
loose gravel and struck a tree a glancing blow with his right fender. He came to a
stop on the opposite side of the road. the engine stalled. Hurriedly he pushed the
starter while the overheated engine slowly came back into life. He engaged 1st gear
and sped off up the road, just as the first MSV turned the corner. Dazed though he
was, Buzz had the advantage of a very narrow road lined on both sides with trees,
and he made the most of it. The road twisted constantly and he stayed in 2nd with
the engine between 5000 and 5500. The crash hadn't seemed to hurt anything and
he was pulling away from the MSV. But to where? It hit him suddenly that the road
dead-ended at the fire tower, no place to go but back . . .
Still he pushed on and at the top of the hill drove quickly to the far end of the
clearing, turned the MG around and waited. The first MSV came flying into the
clearing and aimed itself at the sitting MG. Buzz grabbed reverse gear, backed up
slightly to feint, stopped, and then backed up at full speed. The MSV, expecting
the MG to change direction, veered the wrong way and slid to a stop up against a
tree. Buzz was off again, down the fire tower road, and the undamaged MSV set
off in pursuit. Buzz's predicament was unenviable. He was going full tilt down the
twisting blacktop with a solid MSV coming up at him. and an equally solid MSV
coming down after him. On he went, however, braking hard before each turn and
then accelerating back up to 45 in between. Coming down to a particularly tight
turn, he saw the MSV coming around it from the other direction and stood on the
brakes. The sudden extreme pressure in the brake lines was too much for the rear
brake line which had been twisted somewhat in his spin, and it broke, robbing Buzz
of his brakes. In sheer desperation he pulled the handbrake as tightly as it would go
and rammed the gear lever into 1st, popping the clutch as he did so. The back end
locked solid and broke away, spinning him off the side of the road and miraculously
into some bushes, which brought the car to a halt. As he was collecting his senses,
Buzz saw the two MSVs, unable to stop in time, ram each other head on at over
40 mph.
It was a long time before Buzz had the MG rebuilt to its original pristine condition
of before the chase. It was an even longer time before he went back into the valley
for a drive. Now it was only in the very early hours of the day when most people
were still sleeping off the effects of the good life. And when he saw in the papers
that the government would soon be requiring cars to be capable of withstanding
75-mph headon collisions, he stopped driving the MG altogether
