Car surfing kills

There's been a couple stories in the news lately about the potential tragedy that can ensue from the practice of "car surfing".

No shit.

In one of the stories the surfer was on a couch being pulled with a tow-rope. Hmmm... nothing could go wrong there.

In another there was a guy on the roof and his buddy driving hit the brakes unexpectedly.

Ya, that'll do it.

I've mentioned before the foolishness that went on in and on my '64 Pontiac convertible. We didn't even think to call it surfing. It was just a guy walking to the back of the car to have a whiz.

But once you're out there, your life is literally in the driver's hands. A sudden application of the brakes and that's it.

Game over. For good.

Don't think I've mentioned my '66 Chevy pick-up truck though.

For whatever reason there was a mooning phase involved in my coming of age. That's where you drop your drawers and impress passersby with the sight of your bare ass. I have long since reached a point where I fail to appreciate the humor in this, but there was a phase.

Got a car load of nuns once. That would be a ten out of ten on the moon scale.

A school bus was good for about an eight. Unless all the kids were unloaded, in which case it was nothing.

Anyway, one time I was driving down the highway with my good friend Richard. Richard came from a decent enough place. His brother was a vice president at a big finance company. Not sure how he got to hanging out with riff-raff like me.

I notice a lime green Plymouth Duster in the rear view. Looks like Kipling's car. Doesn't take long for him to pass me, and as he goes by I get the kiss-my-ass mooning from the girlfriend in the passenger seat.

Well!

That was a challenge, a dropping of the gloves as it were.

I bided my time. Found a gap in traffic and passed the lime green 340. Then I says to Richard, hang on to the wheel, put your left foot over here on the gas, and keep her steady. Whatever you do don't hit the brakes.

Then I climb out the driver side window while going down the highway at 60 mph. Clamber up on the roof. You get a fair bit of wind resistance at 60 so this wasn't as easy as it sounds. I'm balanced on the roof of the '66 Chevy pick-up, got the surfer stance going on, and I drop the drawers.

Ya, full moon to you too! Kiss my ass!

Then I climbed back in the window.

That had to be a 12 on the 10 point scale!