More of the day before my birthday – 20 years ago.

I should have thought about it – a fair skinned Irish kid with his arm out the window on a bright sunny fairly warm day – little did I know just how damning it would prove later on.

There we were, four hoodlums, or so we liked to believe – skipping school, taking a drive on a beautiful day – hoping to get some fishing in, get into some kind of trouble and maybe meet some girls in our travels.  That was the plan and it sure sounded nice.

Having been an auto enthusiast since I was a very young kid, I naturally studied how to drive – both on the street as well as the track. 

Long before I could legally drive, I knew what terms like trailing throttle oversteer and negative camber meant. 

Hell, I even took my parent’s car for a spin several times between the ages of 12 and 16.  I wasn’t trying to be an ass about it, I just enjoyed everything automotive.  I still do today.

This trip to Cape Cod would be the farthest I had ever driven from home and it was exciting for me on many levels.  There would be downtown Boston driving, high speed highway driving and of course Cape Cod driving – whatever that meant.

It was like a great adventure for us – and we soaked it all up.  It was hard not to have a grin on my face motoring along in the big Monte Carlo at a cool 85 mph with the stereo cranking, the wind noise bustling and the lumbering burble of the powerful V-8 engine under the hood. 

It made us laugh for no reason – like it was just fun as hell being there right then at that very moment – with no great effort on our part.  I miss those days.

I was making an honest effort not to speed too fast for I knew getting a ticket in the morning would ruin the rest of the day.  Before we left, the four of us made a decision to have a straight day – no drinking or drugs – and no funny business until we were at least on the way home later on.

We arrived on the other side of the canal ready to break out the fishing poles and enjoy the beautiful sunny day.

It wasn’t long before George smacked Roger in the head with his fishing rod – just missing him with the hook – Roger turning around not knowing who did it – and starting to make some noise about it.  I think we got a whopping 20 minutes of decent fishing in before a cop car came within sight.

Now I don’t know about you, but the sight of a cop car, even when you’re not really doing anything wrong, can be a little unnerving for a teenager. 

Ok, we weren’t in school, but other than that – nobody did anything crazy.  Still, we were a little nervous when the policeman asked who we were, why we were there and why we weren’t in school.
I luckily talked the policeman away and we decided to go for a drive and get out of there.  Roger and I were loading the fishing stuff into the trunk and George and Marc went off in search of a soda or something. 

Two minutes later, here comes Marc running towards us and yelling frantically for me to start the car. 

You’ve seen those “OPEN” flags at little roadside stands in Hampton Beach and down on Cape Cod?

Well, I guess they looked appealing to George, because he decided to rip one out of its mooring and take it as a souvenir of our morning at the beach.  How thoughtful of him.

The shop owner, and subsequently the local constabulary, didn’t see the thoughtfulness or the humor in it.

So we piled into the Monte and I finally had the chance to put to test some of the high speed skills I had read so intently about growing up.  I left the fishing area, which was not paved, sliding sideways in an opposite lock power slide at 60 and hit the pavement with tires screeching and nothing but a large thick cloud of sand and smoke behind us – and shot over the bridge back to the “mainland.”

A few exits up Route 3, after charging along at 120 mph for a brief stint, and I pulled off to lay low, get a soda and see if anyone was going to come for us.

Nobody came for us – we were relieved.  (to be continued)