Sunday morning, 8:00 am; hauling north on I-75, somewhere around Lake Allatoona, north of Atlanta. Weather cloudy, road dry, sparse traffic. Looks like a good place to check-out the Fiero’s handling with its new front swaybar. Let’s whip it back and forth a few times . . .
Whoosh! Whoosh! Feels pretty good. OK, now a little harder . . .
Whoosh! Whoo –- Oh, crap! I’ve lost it! Smooth breakaway, but I can’t seem to catch it; like the rear reacts faster than the front. Right! Left! Right! Now what did I read on Pennock’s about spin control? Oh, yeah – lock the brakes.
OK, that’s better; now I’m stable. Nothing wrong with traveling north while facing southwest, is there? Oh, good: the nearest traffic is half a mile behind, too far away to freak-out at the sight of a yellow Fiero sliding up I-75 three-quarters backward with smoking tires.
Our fate now in the hands of Isaac Newton and General Rubber, we drift toward the right shoulder. BRRRRRRR over the warning ripples, then the nose rotates and miraculously we (the Fiero and I) are pointing in the right direction on the paved shoulder, not in the grass. Wow!
A few deep breaths. Drive on. Stop at the next roadcut and admire Ropes Creek metabasalt until my knees stop shaking. Reflect on the observation that a semi-deserted expressway is a pretty good place to do stupid maneuvers without killing myself. Drive on again; gotta be in Ringgold by 9:00.
Glad my wife didn’t see that.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
This story brought to you by the makers of Depends® adult incontinence undergarments.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Disclaimer:
Kids, don't try this at home . . . or anywhere else!