A Summer Drive in Ohio

Here's the way it all started: My Bride is on vacation on the West Coast of These United States, and I've got a day off with no plans. So I decided to go to Cuyahoga Falls. The long way. You know, see the sights on this glorious (and rare) sunny Ohio summer day. Get a look at the Amish and Mennonite farms along the way. Look at the cows in their pastures and the corn in the fields.

So I did.

But before I could get out of the Youngstown area, I was driving along a two lane roadway in the Cornersburg area. Two lanes. I was going 35 in a 35 zone. I don't know why. I'm just like that. 35 in a 35 sounds right and proper to me. In my rear view mirror, I see a silver blur approaching at an alarming rate of speed. Frankly, I had nowhere to go, and there was nothing could I do, so I just waited for the impact. At the last possible moment, the sliver blur panic-braked, missing the back of my car by mere inches, nose dipping precipitiously. He tail-gated me at mere inches for about a half mile or so, gassing his car to get even closer regularly. Attempting, I think, to intimidade me into pulling off the road, or into speeding up. Intimidated I was not.

Like I said, I had nowhere to go. So I just kept going 35 in a 35. I still don't know why. Just seems proper to a rule-oriented guy like me.

Soon, the roadway became a two-lane road and the silver Ford Explorer (as it now been identified) bolted to the right, passed in a flash, and the driver flipped me the bird on the way by.  Flipped ME the bird!!

If you know me, you know what happened next. For those of you who don't, I'll tell you:

I pulled in behind the son-of-a-bitch and put my foot to the floor, letting the 32 valve Northstar breathe a little. The Explorer ried to lose me, but, well, I've got a 32 valve Northstar under the hood. He abruptly turned left into a parking lot, nearly losing control of the Explorer, and I calmly drove on.

Here's what this dip-shit didn't know—when he was tail-gating me, it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and when he flipped me off, all I saw was red. If he had rolled his Explorer while trying to escape my wrath not only would I not have felt bad, I would have figured that I'd done the community a service ridding the planet once and for of all of his presence.

What's really despicable about his type is that they're cowards—flipping me off as he drove by. What a chicken-shit.

I didn't get a look at the driver, but I know the Explorer. Maybe I'll see him again.

The rest of the drive was wonderful.


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