On Thursday night I left the lovely warmth of Florida to head to the moderately cold boring land of Ohio. I wouldn’t pick Ohio just on the fact that there’s nothing there. I went to visit a friend who absolutely hates it there, but has to be there for work. It was another good point for my stress relief vacation.
We were out running errands – getting parts for his job and dog food – and we were cruising down the old two lane county highways or rural Ohio. This friend of mine is a big car junkie, knows everything about them and loves to build them from scratch. His choice of a car is 2006 Range Rover. Yeah, yeah, fancy, high roller car. It’s his baby and he loves that thing. We were talking about racing and speeds and our tickets and what not and he looked over at me and asked, “Whats the fastest you’ve ever gone?”
Now, before any of you get all cop like on me, you can’t tell me that you’ve never wondered what it’s like to hit 100 mph in your car? Feel that little adrenaline rush and the need for speed? Exactly. Don’t reply to me with a lecture about how it’s dangerous and illegal, blah, blah, blah.
In response to his answer, I replied quickly and said “106. In my Alero.” Don’t get me wrong, I was so proud when we hit that fast traveling up to a lake house cabin up in Minocqua. He smiled at me and looked at the road ahead and just floored it. It was honestly so thrilling. When it came time to brake for the narrow bridge ahead, it felt like a plane landing. There was so much speed coming to a stop in such a short time. He looked over at me and said, “There. Now you can say you’ve been even faster than 106.” I smiled to myself and asked, “How fast was that?” He shot me a grin and said 120mph.