It doesn't rain much in SoCal but when it does the rain meets the oil and gas on the road turning the street into a sweet skating rink. It may not be sweet for everybody but for a guy raised in rainy climbs who digs puttin' the pedal to the medal to spin them tires and kick out that back end, its like a slice of mom's apple pie. The rain fell for sixty minutes before my first episode. I was pulling into a strip mall. I was to be first at my stop of a three way stop. My plan was to make a left. The road to the left looked clear enough, meaning no cars and minimal pedestrian action. If a cop were nearby I'd have been popped for rolling through the intersection. A tough fine on the pocket book. I accelerate briefly and then 'boom' I gun it. The tires scream in an attempt to gain purchase. This is no smoke show as the blacktop is too slick. Fine by me. My truck with rear wheel drive is heavy up front in the business end and lighter out back in the party end. The box kicks out like a loose bronco. She's outta here. My tires talk to each other excited by the quick revolutions. If I ease off the gas and turn into the skid I can right the ship. But righting the ship is not in my plans. Not yet. I do turn into the skid slightly but instead of powering down I give her a little more gas. I'm now traveling sideways down the center of the lot. Pedestrian heads turn in fear at the sound. Their countenances full of shock at the sight. Some even read sympathy for the cat who's lost control of his truck. That is, until they hear the music blaring and the maniacal roaring laughter of yours truly over the heavy metal din. I haven't done this move in at least six months. My heart races, slightly gripped in fear. Not real terror mind you, its more like the fear one feels on a roller coaster: its scary but you know it'll work out alright.
The truck's caboose is now getting away from me. A full 360 degree turn, or 'doughnut' is next if I don't take control. My laughter turns to a curse word. If I doughnut and one of the parked cars decides to back out of its space I'm screwed. And I guarantee I won't find a single witness to side with me in this crowd if there's an accident. I ease off the gas slightly and fight the wheel from doing her own thing. The truck growls one more time before coming under control. I slow, pull into a parking spot and shut her down. A dozen witnesses eyes filled with hatred bore through me. They appear even more shocked as they spy my salt and pepper hair. Their questioning eyes ask, 'aren't you a bit old for peeling out?'
And to them and the masses who are reading this blog I say this. Fair enough, peelin' out, burnin' rubber or layin' a patch is generally a younger man's game. A game that men, okay boys, usually discover at around age 16. Without giving too much away, somewhere between age 15 and 17 I got with a girl and we 'did the do'. It was both our first time. And do you know what? After all of these years, gettin' down with a dame is still fun! Some activities just hold up people. So go ahead and do the peel out math brothers and sisters. And if you see my truck comin' at you sideways with music blastin' and tires a-screamin'-don't hate. Instead, roll that window down and give me a fist pump or flash me the rock and roll sign. Because life is short. So, GIVE 'ER!