A friend was so favorably impressed with my new Subaru Sti that he purchased the exact same model about three weeks later.
Unfortunately, his vehicle lacked one accessory which I consider essential equipment—Valentine One. Bill agreed, in theory, that he should buy a V1. But despite my merciless cajoling and predictions of doom, he simply would not place his order. I found it appalling that a fellow professional pilot was comfortable rolling the dice in his fast new ride.
Yesterday we got together to exercise the tires on some river-bottom back roads. After a short stop in the middle of nowhere, on a whim we switched vehicles. My V1 is hard wired so I had to leave it behind.
Somehow, I ended up in the lead, driving fast and feeling naked. Coming around a sweeping curve with a long series of tight rolling hills ahead I accelerated hard, only to see Bill frantically flashing his (my) high beams from behind. I grabbed a lower gear and major braking just as a Sheriff’s cruiser topped the next rise. By the time the deputy passed with a friendly wave I was pretty sure my infarction wouldn’t be fatal, but I was feeling something else, too—euphoria of a sinner gone undetected.
Needless to say, we were all smiles as we switched back to our own cars about a mile down the road. Bill went home and, without additional prodding, ordered his V1.
As for me, how many people can say they’ve been saved by their own detector, looking forward from hundreds of feet behind them? You do nice work, Mike.