DHFerguson
Member
This column from 1999 was just republished at Autoextremist.com:
by Dr. Bud E. Bryan
Lightnings, Love and Officer RamRod.
Austin, Texas. Well let's see, since I last talked to you folks out in Web Ville, Nadine and I were cut loose in Houston with a borrowed '99 911 which was a laugh-and-a-half itself (we have some serious concerns with the Dr.'s expenses -ed.), but hell, the trip back was even better than that. Like I said before, Nadine's a pretty fair driver. I made her go with me to Bondurant's one time, and besides the fact that every instructor in the place wanted to take turns giving her more "personalized" instruction, she did damn good in their Mustang, takin' to it like a brahma bull takes to a rodeo cowboy's ***. So I'll turn the wheel over to her on trips and stuff so I can play around with the damn CD player, if nothing else. Anyway, we were about an hour out of Austin in the Official Billy Bad *** Truck of America -- my black SVT Lightning -- and I notice Nadine's gettin' a little frisky with the throttle on one of those long Texas dips in the road. Like about 115 worth of frisky.
"Nadine, I just picked the damn thing up. I'd like the rings to seat for oh, maybe five minutes before we try to blow it up real good."
"Oh ****, Bud. This thing's just loafin'. It just wants to run all day."
"Well that may be, but neither one of us can afford any more points. And I forgot my detector, know what I mean?"
Just then that ol' Texas dip turns into one of those crests that you don't see comin' and damn if there wasn't a Texas State Trooper with his radar on in the median.
"Goddamn!" We both said it in unison.
The guy started movin' the moment he saw us. Now, I don't know about you, but if your doin' at least fifty over the limit there's not much sense in fryin' your brakes just to pretend it didn't happen, now is there?
"What should I do?" Nadine says, like I'm supposed to be The Big Protector all of a sudden now that her fine little *** was just caught hangin' out in the breeze at 110.
"Well ****, slow down, but don't slam on the brakes or he'll probably slam into the back of us and be really pissed. Just bring it down slow and get off to the side of the damn road and leave him plenty of room...put your right side wheels off the shoulder a little."
She does that and then we wait for what I like to call The Longest Damn Walk In Real Life...waitin' for some professional hard head to take his or her sweet time to get to your sorry *** and give you a ticket that you absolutely don't need 'cause it will jack your insurance rates up so much that you could be drivin' a damn Ferrari for the amount of cash they're soakin' you for but instead you're in a beater Taurus with 92,000 miles on it that you can't get out from under because at the time it sounded like a good idea to buy a car off the National Car Rental lot to save some money. If you know what I mean.
Anyway this pride of his regiment State Trooper saunters up to the side of the Lightning and then you realize the real reason why half the damn country is drivin' trucks and sport utilities...it's because even if the cop is 6'5" he's still not gonna' tower over you if you're in a damn truck. Now the Lightning is lowered, but even so, this guy was perfectly eye level with my favorite little Dellionaire and damn if she wasn't lovin' it.
"Hello, officer."
Now I gotta' tell ya,' Nadine made "hello, officer" sound like it had about fourteen syllables in it. Son, you know those Texas girls are up to somethin' no good when the accent gets turned up a few notches. Tell you what. Kind of like the way she sounds when she's really tryin' to get me to do what I don't want to do, like take her to the mall or go to dinner with her friend Patsy, who has so many problems, trials and tribulations in real life that it's no wonder she can't get a damn date unless Nadine tries to fix her up with anyone who's male and ambulatory (huh? -ed.)
"I need to see your driver's license and registration ma'am."
Now I gotta' hand it to this guy. He is as stiff as a board and straighter than taut new rope and he's got such a perfectly polished set of Ray Ban mirrors on that I could floss my teeth and give myslef a close shave from ten feet away. And he looks like he laughed once maybe back in '92. So I get the temporary paperwork out of the console and Nadine picks her license out of that maelstrom of crap called a purse. How come she can't find anything any other time -- like her keys, for instance? (mysteries of life department -ed.)Just then, she slips her Armani sunglasses off and opens her mouth.
"Like my truck?"
I just about **** and fall out of the truck as I hear Nadine actually try to engage Dudley Goddamn DoRight in something other than by-the-book "Stopping Citizens 101" conversation. I felt a big headache comin' on all of a sudden.
"Yes ma'am."
Yes ma'am? Yes ma'am? I can't believe my ears! I'm sure Corporal RamRod's going to stop this conversation cold dead in its tracks right then and there. This can't be happening. I started to rub my hands over my face, kind of like that look of desperation that you see people get when they're 'bout to get called in from the waiting room at the butt doctor's (thank you -ed.)
"It's the new Lightnin' SVT."
"Why yes, ma'am, I've read about it."
My head is startin' to bang like the UT marching band's big bass drums are pounding out "Sunshine of Your Love" in one of those all-tile bathrooms as big as a football field at the DFW airport. Just for me. This guy was either a goner under one of Miss Nadine's irresistible full-metal spells (I oughtta' know, she nailed me didn't she?) or we were going to take a nice air-conditioned ride to fill out her "reckless driving, six points" forms.
"Doesn't it have a supercharger?"
"Why, yes it does. Do you want to see it?
Alright, that's it. Nadine says "do you want to see it?" better than any woman I've ever known and when she says it son, she means it. I guar-an-damn-tee-it. So Nadine reaches down and pops the hood and proceeds to slither out of the Lightning like a cat ready to pounce on her favorite little chipmunk. And damn if the trooper doesn't hold the door for her like they were arrivin' at the goddamn prom or somethin'. Now, Nadine has a pair of black stretch pants on that fit so tight you don't even have to imagine anymore and these little black official "c-f-m" sandals and a tight black t-shirt that says "Austin, It's A Whole 'Nother Country" on it, and at this point I'm startin' to get that squeamish feelin' in my stomach. Sort of like I know it doesn't feel right but I don't have any idea which way it's gonna' go...as they raise the hood.
"It's got 360 horsepower," Nadine says.
"Yeah, and they put big huge brakes on it from the Navigator, and tricked up the front and rear suspension and this front end's all different too, isn't it?" says Officer Rod.
At this point, I'm sayin' to myself, "Self, what the hell is goin' on here and at what point does this all turn to ****?" as I slowly start to sink down in my seat a little bit more. They close the hood and stare down at the Lightning's all-new lower front body work and 18-inch wheels, as Nadine keeps talkin'.
"You know, Officer Davis," (never missing a beat, Nadine catches the guy's name on his little name tag) "I'm really sorry about how fast I was goin'," Nadine says in her best Scarlett O'Hara, "but my boyfriend told me to give it a little gas and frankly, I just didn't have any idea as to how fast I was goin'."
There's those magic words, used by women only when it's absolutely necessary. Like when they need to change airline-hotel-dinner reservations or cancel out of plans made weeks ago with their best friend, it's sort of a catch-all situational excuse as if to say if it weren't for that lazy *** I hang with (insert derisive term du jour here for significant other) my life would be so less hectic. And they say it all with a perfectly pleasant, bemused smile and lilting voice.
For a brief pastoral moment, I flashed on the cobalt blue Texas sky and that sweet country air, before it dawned on me as to what my little wildcat just said. Just as "my boyfriend told me..." registered on my brain like a 7.2 quake on my personal Richter scale, I felt my right hand start to squeeze the livin' **** out of the fancy door pull just as my body started to slowly rise out of the seat. I felt like a coiled snake about to go right through the damn windshield. But I needn't have done that, oh no, because at that point ol' Officer RamRod was standin' right next to me on my side of the truck, asking me for my license!
As I got my license out, Nadine got back in the truck and gave me a quick little look as if to say "if we get out of this, baby, I'll make it all better, don't worry." But if she caught a wiff of my little look she knew that there weren't enough cans of whup-*** in the great State of Texas...
"Mr. Bryan."
"Yes, sir."
"I don't think I need to tell you that you shouldn't encourage anyone to break the speed limit, do I?"
"No sir."
"I think in the future Mr. Bryan, you should be more respectful of the speed laws. I'm going to give you a warning at this time."
And then he took off his goddamn hat and leaned into the cab, with his face about four inches from mine and says, "And ma'am, you take good care of this truck now, okay?" With that, Officer Rod sauntered back to his patrol car.
I flashed on the cobalt blue Texas sky again and smelled that sweet country air, staring as straight ahead as the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. I heard Nadine start the truck and I sensed Officer RamRod take off down the road as if in slow motion. And then I felt our truck start to move. I wasn't sure, becuase I was lost in that intermediate haze between rage and bewilderment.
"Honey?"
I heard her but I could not speak.
"Honey..."
Wanted to speak.
"Honey, I'm sorry, but you know neither one of us could afford any more points. You said it yourself. And I just got a vibe that I could talk to him and I did...
Couldn't speak.
Now, Nadine's known me long enough to know when it probably isn't a real good idea to try to engage me in a conversation. Like when I'm so hung over from too many tequila's my eyes take on a Testor's Cement-like glaze. Or when UT loses to some sorry-*** West Coast team that we shoulda' beaten by at least three touchdowns, or worse yet, any time they lose to Notre Dame. I hate that damn little leprechaun. Or, when she's pissed me off so much that I can't speak. This, Nadine knew, was one of those times.
I pushed "play" on the CD. I had Randy Newman's new CD, "Bad Love" in. Then his words came out ringin'...
"True love never runs smooth you know
Sometimes there'll be sunny days
Sometimes there'll be sleet and snow
When true love calls you
Man you gotta go
And when you gotta go, you gotta go
You got to know the one you love
You got to know the one you love
The one you love..."
We drove on into Austin, Randy providing the appropriate accompaniment. The more I thought, the better it got. I looked over at my Texas Wildcat and she looked as good as it gets. She smiled and she held out her hand. I grabbed it and said,
"You did good, Babe. You did real good."
Besides, I knew it was going to be alright. Oh yeah. It was going to be better than alright. You got to know the one you love.
