May Day
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May Day The call-sign “May Day” is an international distress signal. I know why. I’m was in a Fairfield Inn off exit 28 of the PA Turnpike, last night, since I would have died if I kept driving. College Commencement yesterday morning in Ann Arbor; the day before was Petoskey, Michigan, fixing my Mom’s computer, and the day before that was Chicago and Traverse City coming from Boston the day before, and the world’s fastest pick-up truck sped me the last four hours into the City this morning. I had a road-race with a couple modern coups around Johnstown, speeds over 90, and the truck is optimized for the straight-away. It has racing tires and a good suspension, but I had to keep it on boost coming of the twisty stuff, and took an exit at a Service Plaza, still in the lead, to let the better suspensions take the State Patrol Check Point where I had my last speeding ticket in 1976. That truck is a rocket, a beast from the past. It is fifteen years old this year, and the Famous Bomber Pilot only used it to take his trash to the dump. But of course he had to take it in style. It idles at 2K RPM at 70 MPH and has thrust to burn from there- If I twitch my foot on the accelerator and go to turbo-boost I am at a hundred before I can think about the corrosion I haven’t taken care of on the underside. I got in around ten-fifteen this morning, cleaned up the trick, filled it with high test, went to the Commissary to prepare for next weekend and the Gold Cup races and did the laundry. I took a nap interrupted by only two calls and now I am twenty minutes out from my second shower of the day, and off to Dulles to fly to San Fran on the Red Eye, arriving shortly after midnight, Pacific Coast Time. I will be very happy when this is over. You may see something about it in a Socotra. Cheers, Vic www.VicSocotra.Com |
