Seniors Rule!

I don't wring out the Stang that often...my recreational vehicle helps me enjoy the Great Outdoors, the Open Road, and an occasional indulgence from the Blessed Goddess of Acceleration. Today was one such day...plus, I'd been driving the plain-white-wrapper Ranger all month and welcomed the diversion. I also don't wring it out lightly or gratuitously. If I can gain a substantial advantage in traffic...or have a great deal of fun with no danger to public safety, I'll give the Lady her legs and voice. When a lane to advance opened up after a turn, I took advantage. Apparently, all the drivers figured the yellow Stang in the "fast lane" would treat it as such. Little did they realize that some cute PutStangs are bought for high school/college girls who aren't brimming with testosterone...I confirmed this as I zoomed past the column, and also noticed one of her possible classmates driving the stereotypical red, lowered Ricer with the throaty baritone-Dustbuster engine roar frustrated by the yellow Stang. The Ricer had "Seniors 2006" soaped across his back window...so I knew I'd see him again.

Sure enough, long after the need for speed had elapsed, I could see and hear the hormonal Ricer Racer charge up behind and past me...then realize that he was charging at the pack of stopped cars that I was coasting towards. Ricer bobbed and weaved then selected the column that was a half carlength shorter than the other.

"You have chosen...unwisely, Hormone Boy," I thought as my Stang (which didn't have any work-trucks in line ahead of it) glided past him. He'd eventually pass me, revving his Dustbuster all the while, but I was slowing for a left turn towards the AF Base. It wasn't difficult to ignore him, but his craving for attention almost made me smile. I'm sure he'll boast to his Ricer buddies about blowing the doors off some old guy in a muscle car today. I turned 45 last month, so I'm almost a Senior myself...and with that proverb about old age and treachery in mind...Seniors Rule!

BTW: My first car was a five-year-old Buick Regal I bought when I was 22 (Dad helped me pick it out after I returned from my first tour to Korea). I paid cash. After I became a dedicated Mustang muscle car enthusiast in '87, Dad confessed that he was sorry he led me to buy the Buick since my interests obviously leaned away from such an "old man" car. I told him the maturity that I'd acquired during those early Buick years ensured he'd have little to worry about hearing of his older son wrapping his car around a tree.