MaineCourse

Maiden Voyage

I called Jeffrey in Evansville to ask him if he thought the BMW would make the twelve mile drive to Minuteman High School in Lexington. He didn’t hesitate to say yes, but added, “When you shift into the higher gears, give it gas slowly, the clutch slips.”
With Robby and Joe in the back seat, Matt riding shotgun, and Diane trailing in the Mazda, we turned right out of our driveway, down Central St., past the train station and onto School St. I wanted to stick to my mental map of all back roads to avoid less forgiving state cops on the highway. We weren’t illegal, but we were driving an un-inspected car which meant that if stopped, I’d have some ‘splaining to do.
The lack of a sticker would give us away but speed traps were not going to be a problem. Every time the speedometer needle passed thirty-five, there was a rousing cheer from the back seat, even if it was then noted that we were going downhill, or that the quivering pointer might not be accurate. Later, Diane confirmed a top speed of forty.
I’m sure if we had taken the highway we could have gone faster, but that clutch has been added to Matt’s school to-do list, as well as the steering wheel that seems only remotely connected to the front wheels.
When we finally got to Concord, Matt called Dan to warn him that we would soon be passing his street. An alert perhaps, to queue up behind us, which he did. The first Minuteman gate we came to was locked, the second invitingly open, but when we pulled into the parking lot next to Matt's classroom, horns blaring in celebration, a stern-faced security guard approached. I walked up to him.
“I’m Michael Miller.”
Big deal.
‘Matthew Miller’s father.”
Still not impressed.
“Matthew is taking a course here and his instructor said he could bring his car to be worked on.”
At least that brought words.
“I need a written statement from his teacher, otherwise you can’t park here.”
I thought, boolsheet mon. This may be the most rigidly-ruled and regulated state in the union but we're not turning this parade around. Three harmless looking adults, three boys and a jewel of car created before the guard was born. Besides, the BMW is from Indiana, where there are no rules. He’ll bend.

“What’s the instructor's name?”

“Bruce Flood, “ Matthew replies.

And that was it, the excuse he wanted to suddenly not need that written statement. By the end, he too was smiling as broadly as the rest of us.


Robby and Joe buckle up.



The not too distant future.

Note to Jeffrey:
I returned the battery, but had the same clicking, no crank sound from the new one. I folllowed the positive battery lead back to the coil, found it broken off, and in pulling it back out, contacted the battery ground strap which melted the copper wire in half, fried its insulation and sent a plume of acrid white smoke and hot white sparks billowing from under the hood. Assuming the worst, those boys, like hooked marlin, bolted from the car.

I don't understand how you can be so worried about the legal and safety issues involved in driving this car and then filling it with all the neighborhood kids when you do decide to drive it! Where did that rear wheel come from? peace

Posted by jeffro.

Good point and good eye. Matt found the cover on the road. Did I mention that Rick blew a tire when he drove it off his trailer? A gaping, unrepairable hole.

Posted by Michael.

As Q might say, "This is beginning with all the signs of a good saga in the making!" It has a couple of good chapters already. As long as everyone stays whole and doesn't acquire (or add to) rap sheets.........

Posted by avid fan.

Saga? A Q type saga? As all of Matt's female friends say, OMIGAWD!

Posted by Scared Stiff.

Posted by Michael at July 14, 2003 09:39 AM