Thursday, August 25, 2016

no better feeling than riding in a sports car at speed















I met Lance in my first year of JC, junior college, and we became friends.  I was accepted into his group of friends, most a few years older, and many who had just done time in the service.  Lance had some endearing qualities about himself, among them you wanted to be his friend.  And being accepted by him was a great confidence booster to me.  But we came from different backgrounds, but had one common desire-sports cars.  Now sports cars of 50 years ago were much different than the sporty cars of today, mostly British, who to me still define the term, with a top that folds down, then Italian, which I never bought into, they broke all the time, although another friend Alex with his 1969 Fiat 124 Spyder, was the exception to that rule.  And finally German, in particular Porsche, and an up and coming older brand, BMW.  Remember British what?  It sure has been a long time.  And Lance and I belonged to the German aspect of sports cars, he with his 1964 356 coupe, an ugly brown, and me with my BMW 1600 coupe.  Small engines, light coupes, with great handling, which along with Joe’s Austin Healey Sprite would be seen together often.  Three flavors of the same ice cream, fun no matter which ride you took.  With the exception of my BMW, which is the only one that ran all the time, or most of it.  Lance’s 356 always needed a clutch, and his GI Bill didn’t provide for Porsche parts.  Nor did the same Bill provide for English parts, which sometimes failed before installed on the car.  Or would rust in the sun on a sunny day.  So my BMW was the workhorse, and I was happy to oblige.
Now both the 356 and Sprite were two seaters, true sports cars, while the BMW held 4, pushing the envelope of sports car in many circles, and like most racing, the BS stops when the flag drops.  And many chased my tail lights in the Watchung Mountains, so I was included.  Also the third and fourth passenger capability would put me into taxi service, like the one afternoon Lance needed to pick up Mary Lynn, his girl friend at the hospital, and the Porsche wouldn’t go into gear.  So my BMW we took, through the back roads, then up I-287.  And the adventure was about to begin.
Doing the ton, the Brits called it, or 100 mph in Colonial terms.  And 100 mph in a car with only a 96 cubic inch engine was a big brag against the likes of Richard’s 455 in his 442.  And on this open freeway on this sunny fall afternoon, with no cars in sight, we decided to try it.  This in the early days of the 55 mph death when caught exceeding it limit, and so I went, with Lance looking at the speedo.  75, 85, 95, and creeping closer to 100, then above, finally reaching 102.  When the cop pulled up next to us...flashing a sign that said, STATE POLICE, NJ, and suddenly the mood had changed, the fun was over.  And I had visions of being car less and with no license for the rest of my life.  Now the cop was cool, he was in blue training clothes, not a uniform, which should have given me the first clue.  And his calm demeanor, not calling for a tow vehicle should have been the second.  But when he told me, after seeing my license, “I will contact you later at work, and mail you the ticket after,” I should have known something was up.  But fear in the heat of the moment, and remembering later when asked why I was going so fast, “you on the way to the hospital?” and my answering “yes” made him chuckle, should have been a dead give away.  Adding to that Mary Lynn’s immediate refusal to ride with us, she finally did, and going the speed limit the rest of the day in mortal fear of being caught, stress had overtaken any primal thought process, and I was scared.  Of my parents, losing my license, my job, my freedom, my girlfriend, and the list went on.  I would be a kid again, dependent on someone else to take me and pick me up.  If only the 102 on the speedo was worth it now....
And so for a few days I was cautious, and winced every time the phone rang.  I was uptight all night at work, and while a hero to my friends for the feat, was sick about the potential consequences.   But for a few days the call never came.  And then talking with Lance, it began to make sense.  He wasn’t a cop who stopped me, but a mechanic test riding a patrol car.  And we were the joke of his for the day!  Which would explain the no ticket, the “I’ll call you later,” and the no uniform.  In the heat of the moment, we had been fooled...and I didn’t like it at first.  But would settle for it, as it meant my freedom was still intact, my license not in jeopardy, and all my potential losses wouldn’t be.  We would eventually laugh about it, and always wondered, what story did he tell his friends that night?  “I stopped these two guys at over 100, they thought I was a cop...” and the crowd would laugh and I was part of an urban legend come true.  The things of bench racing...and maybe Lance was right, “there is no better feeling than a fast ride in an open sports car.”  My BMW the exception...
Looking back I had a great deal of faith in my potential outcome, and it wasn’t very good.  Doubt had crept in big time, and I was busted.  But later I was to learn how faith and doubt seem to be found  hand in hand, and that doubt is not a sin, but a reminder of your faith, not the amount, but of its testing.  Faith and doubt are not contrary, but doubt exposes your faith, for if you had no faith, doubt would not attack it.  Faith is how God works, and doubt the tool of the devil, so it is normal to have your faith tested by it.  There is no faith without doubts, and the spirit will guide us through.  And lack of faith is not a sin, nor is doubting, for Jesus himself doubted, and never sinned.  He was tested in all things, yet never sinned.  And he lived by faith, and by trust in his father.  Everything he did reflected the will of God for his life....and so if you have doubt, know it is really a testing of your faith, proving that it does still exist no matter the situation, and that Jesus has never, nor will never abandon you.  He was there at 100 mph, just as well as along the road when stopped.  So hang in there when your faith is tested, so was our Lord and Savior’s.  You are in good company, and he will see you through.  For without doubt, you wouldn’t be reminded of your faith, no matter how small.  So if you are troubled by doubts, rejoice, for God is with you.  And proof you are living by faith!  So don’t let your doubts overthrow or control you!
Looking back I was scared, and had only faith in the fact was license was going to be lifted.  When I started to doubt, my faith changed to not losing it, to the truth being seen through the emotions amidst the situation.  You see faith and doubt really do work together, and God had prepared a way out for me.  Now don’t tempt God by sinning, my 102 in a 55 was highly illegal, but know that in times of trials, Jesus is there to help.  His spirit to guide and advise.  In ways that when you look back will surprise you.  And find he was there the whole time.  We walk by faith, not by sight.  Faith took me over 100 that day, and earned me a reputation for speed.  Sight got me pulled over.  You never know who is watching....so live by faith, knowing God is always watching.  Your faith, his sight.  Never lose sight of that fact.  And honest sir, I really was on the way to the hospital!
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com