I Wasn’t Fast Enough

The other night Don, the company man, was telling me about some wells he drilled.  

They were “Drier than a popcorn fart.”

Today’s Exploit:

The other day Patrick spent most of the afternoon working on his car.  He cleaned the headlights and fixed a loose belt and fiddled with anything he could find under the hood.

He really likes cars.

When he ran out of stuff to do on his he decided that he would work on mine.  He cleaned and cleaned and cleaned my headlights.  He spent the whole time telling me about ways to clean oxidized headlights and the way he preferred to use.  

When he was done he decided that we should take a drive in his car.  And I should drive.

He has a Subaru.  A racecar Subaru.  With lots of numbers and letters after the name.  All of them meaning that it goes really fast.

So I got in and started the car.  And turned around carefully, avoiding all the sticks and roots trying to tear off the undercarriage.  

Then I crept along to the gate guard, who waved us through.

I turned onto the dirt road and we started measuring out the distances that each of us had run.  I was driving along at a moderate pace, somewhere around 35.2 miles per hour.  

Patrick complained that I wasn’t revving the engine high enough.  Also that I wasn’t going fast enough.  

We finally made it to a highway, so I turned onto it and drove along at the speed limit.

He was still complaining.  

So at the next turn he made me get out.  

He was going to show me how you’re supposed to drive a racecar.

We went fast.

Really fast.

And he made fun of me for being too tense.  

But he didn’t slow down, and we made it back to the rig in 5.6 minutes.  

It took me 15.4 minutes to make my segment of the trip.