The summer of 1969 I was driving my 1964 Barracuda west bound on Interstate 70 from Salina, Ks on my way to visit my grandma before I went into the Army (where I stayed for 34 years). I was pushing hard between 90 and 100 mph. Kansas interstate speed limits were 80 mph back then. Out of nowhere, as they always do, there was a Ks highway patrol trooper taking my picture. I had growed up on an airport with my dad being an airport manager and FBO, (fixed base operator) and I had started learning to fly before I had a drivers license. The trooper stopped me and with great swagger and authority, walked up to my car and said, "Well son, let me see your pilots license". Trying to cooperate, I gave it to him. He ask me what it was. I told him, "it is my pilots license, thats what you had asked for". He stood there looking dumbfounded. He handed it back to me, and said "Son, either fly higher or slow down", and handed it back to me. He then went back to his patrol car and drove off. I slowed down, didn't believe that could work twice.
I no longer have that Cuda, but I now have one almost like my old '64, only this one has auto and is a '65. The rest is the same. I think about this incident nearly every time I take the Cuda out and get the urge to go fast. I still carry my pilots license.