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Recently I was reminded of my 1st speeding ticket. I was 18 at the time and had just bought a car for $100 from a couple I worked with. Sure it stalled at stoplights, but it was a 1971 Dodge Charger painted brilliant white with a maroon hood scoop, heavy metal imagery, racing stripes, and one of those tiny racing steering wheels. It was a car you might have seen in Christine or Deathproof, had the latter been released at that time.
I also was part of the floor show at Rocky Horror- Frank no less. The theatre usually liked to close up ASAP after the midnight movies so it was common for me to throw street clothes on over my costume and wait until I got home to wash off the stage makeup. That night was no exception.
On the way home, a Mustang full of girls pulled up beside me on Independence Blvd. They were honking, waving and smiling and one of them pointed ahead as they put the pedal to the metal . Since it was 2AM with no other cars around and the section of road had no side streets, and since I was a young male, I took the bait. Within a second or two we were doing 85 -95mph for the next mile or so through the S turns and my adrenaline was pumping as the engine roared and the tires hugged the turns. It was the epitomal “in the moment” moment when time was suspended and only the experience existed.
We were approaching the commercial sprawl so I backed down and resumed normal speed for the next few blocks before the blue lights appeared in my mirror.
I can only imagine what was going through that cops mind as he approached a wildly painted muscle car driven by a man dressed as Dr Frank N Furter. Luckily for me and them, the lion had its antelope and the girls were free and clear. I managed to only get a ticket for 45 in a 35 zone.
My dad didn’t learn about the ticket until months later but he disapproved of the car, so I had to give it back to the previous owners and eat the $100 loss, but the memory always remained.
