On January 1, 2000 my parents flew to Australia and left their 18 year old boy with their 1995 Cadillac Seville. Coincidentally the 1968 Firebird owned by the family I was staying with had just completed an engine and exhaust overhaul, but could not go into the storage unit until January 2. It was a beautiful dark metallic green and the restoration on the 350 had added a little power and a lot of great noise. My teenage friend and I knew that our small town would only have one police officer on duty New Year’s Day. We found out where he parked his squad car to watch the football game on his portable TV. It was also 40 degrees and raining so we knew no one would be walking around outside and call us in. We proceeded to play follow-the-leader through town. The Firebird was a little faster but only in a straight line. Therefore when I led, I took as many turns as hard as I could, which also caused my female friend riding shotgun to cheer at every big turn.
The best part, and when we decided to end this game, occurred when I turned hard onto a small street in front of our old middle school. I made the turn perfectly while my buddy was trying hard to pass. He also made the turn but fish-tailed over the side walk and into the front yard of the middle school. Those large rear wheel drive tires threw up piles and piles of cold wet grass and dirt over the front of the old school house. This then scared us enough that we took the girls home and washed the cars in the middle of the night to destroy the muddy evidence.