# of divers

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

DWH to Graceland - (driving while happy)

Generally when presented with a speeding ticket, I graciously accept. I then quietly declare in a near closed-mouthed breath to myself it's about time, whilst flashing a pearlywhite grin to the issuing officer.

I'm guilty as hell your honor.

It's true... I'm a wretched driver.
A real speed demon.
A regular leadfoot.
A fleeting gearhead fleeter.
A momentum-loving/make no haste/spring in my sail kind of driver you have quite likely called a maniac at some point while sharing the road with me.

Once, my front seated traveler seized my ice cream cone from me and threw it out the passenger side window where it careened down a questionable hillside I paid little attention to while piloting the excursion.

In my own defense, I will give mention to my fierce, sabertoothed-tigerlike parallel parking abilities.

There now... I've digressed all I've wanted.

Today, I managed to imperceptibly deflect the clutches of the law, and escaped by barely the hair of my chinny-chin-chin. I must let you know at this time, that enabling the Led Zeppelin defense to get out of a speeding ticket will have very little influence on a traffic officer's discretionary practices. 

Driving while happy however does. At least it did for me on this given day.

At a clear, mad and pacey 84 mph in a 65 zone just shortly outside of Mexico, I gazed into my rear view mirror to catch the glowy, red and blue beacon lights behind me. When asked why I was in such a hurry, I simply explained that I was not in a hurry. I was enthralled by my music, which subconsciously made me step on the gas a bit more heavily than usual. I even went as far as to play him a bit of the musical bit that was brilliantly orchestrated at my time of capture, so that he too could share my sentiment.

Unfortunately for me, he was not a fan of my pathetic, Freudian psychoanalytic explanation.

Fortunately for me, he had yet to hear 'being happy' as an excuse for speeding.

He carefully explained to me that while driving happily isn't a crime, speeding was, and with that I was dismissed with a reminder to drive safely.

Now that I've escaped the law, I wish to travel to Graceland in a similar manner.


I wish to do so with far more oomph and style. Not just any style, I speak of a do it up, Thelma and Louise renegade adventure style, (sans the double suicide cliff jump ending, but that's just me spoiling the movie).

I have a clear vision of driving a classic vintage 1966 Thunderbird convertible, with wild tresses flying behind me in the dusty wake of my path, and an untraveled road in front of me reaching well beyond the visible horizon.


Make it a 1957 Lincoln Premier
featuring tires that fly like a scalded bat fresh out of a dark and hellish inferno.

Or better yet... A hopped up 1955 Buick Century hot rod itching for a game of chicken.

Whatever the ride, it's the open road and Graceland or bust for me.

I'm certain I won't be able to bamboozle my way out of that speeding ticket.

Hopping onto the sleep train now.



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