“We have met the enemy and he is us.” (Walt Kelly)

We must cleanse our minds of feelings of paranoia before entering the battlefield. One last story before we leave Volume I.

Half a lifetime ago, my other passion was cars. I had three Italian mid-engine exoticars at various times, and a few big bikes. Unfortunately, I also had a rebellious streak at that time in my life, or maybe just a lazy streak, and never seemed to get around to paperwork — like registration and getting a license. The local police knew this and pretty much ignored me, as I knew many of them from Poker games and related connections. Particularly twice a year, when they got their uniform allowances. On this particular day, I was out of my comfort zone having driven into another township.

I had a Lamborghini Muira at the time, possibly the only one in the state, making it rather identifiable. It was one of the early Muiras weighing a bit over 2,000 pounds due to the aluminum engine and body and hand-cut holes in the square-tubing frame. Also complete lack of creature comforts, like radio, air or power anything. For heat, you turned a faucet-like knob under the dash that circulated engine coolant through the cockpit. As the center of the car was a V12 power plant with four Weber, triple-throat carburetors, I would say it was adequately powered.

The cops pulled me over for a chat. Sitting in the back seat of the squad car, they said they would have to impound the car and called for a tow truck. I explained that the entire front of the body was one piece of hand-formed aluminum and it would be destroyed if a normal tow truck were used, causing more damage than the cost of the squad car. They would need a flatbed truck. Back on the radio, they explained the problem. After a bit of discussion, a sergeant got on the radio and shouted, “Stop f****** around. One of you drive the car to the impound lot.”

The cops looked at each other. One said, “I’m not driving that car.” The other said, “I’m not driving that car.” They turned to me and said, “You’re driving the car.” I smiled and said, “I don’t have a license.” So they explained that I would drive and one of them would accompany me. On the way, the cop said, “Once you get your paperwork fixed, give us a call. We’ll block

 © 2009 Norman Wattenberger