Well, after stopping for gas, that is. I pull out of the station, and on to Spice Pond Road. For those of you not lucky enough to live in Alabama, this is a long, winding road that resembles a roller coaster ride with all it's peaks and valleys and hills and twists and turns. The second that I make the turn onto this road, I pull in directly behind an asphalt sprayer truck. Dammit, if only I didn't have to stop for gas first...::grumbles::
Okay, this is going to suck, as the passing opportunities are few and far between. So I'm coasting down the road at around 35mph. A dump truck comes slowly down the road in the other lane. Of course, these two drivers are either friends or co-workers, and they both park their respective vehicles to stop and chat. With me sitting there, fuming. Another truck had pulled in behind me, so I was goin' nowhere.
FINALLY, after much profanity directed towards my windshield, they shifted into Drive and rolled down the road at 35mph. Until we got to the actual construction. A flagman was standing there with his STOP sign. We both stop, though nobody was coming down the other lane. Eventually, he waves the asphalt truck through, but jumps out in front of my truck to make sure I still stop. (For those of you that know what I drive, you realize that this was a pretty stupid move. But I manage not to kill the poor bastard.)
So, I sit there. And wait. And wait. After a few minutes, a white truck pulls up, and the flag guy tosses his sign in the back and walks towards the passenger side door. Doesn't make any kind of signal to me. If the white pickup wasn't halfway in my lane, directly in front of my truck, I wouldn't care. But I point to the jackass and shrug my shoulders, trying to non-verbally ask him what the fuck is going on and, more importantly, can I finally go now. He sighs and makes the most obvious, over-exaggerated full arm wave to signal for me to proceed, as if I were a complete dumbass that just didn't get it. I shoulda run the prick over while I had the chance.
FINALLY, I swerve around the white pickup that was halfway in my lane, stomp the gas, and catch up to the asphalt sprayer before I can really even get up to speed. About a minute later, he gets stuck behind a steam roller. We all idle down the road at around 10mph. And even letting my engine idle, I still occasionally have to mash the brakes. He eventually swings off to the side of the road, and then we were able to triple our speed up to the amazing rate of 35mph. By this point in time, I've begun inventing new profane words as I had long since exhausted my supply.
And then it happened. We rose over a hill, and while it was still very much a no passing area, I could see down the hill, around the corner, and up the next hill far enough to be able to pass.
Approximately two seconds after I attempted to push my gas pedal through my floorboard, I realized that I wasn't in my Dad's straight six. I was in my race-modified, shaved, bored, and cored 454 big block Chevrolet.
So, here I am. Speedometer says 95mph. In front of me lies double S-curves. I cut through the center of the highway, trying to straighten the road out as much as I can. Then comes the big left hand turn. I slam on the brakes and pull a Dukes of Hazzard powerslide around the corner. (The only difference between a "Dukes of Hazzard" powerslide and an "OMG We're All Gonna DIEEE!!!" powerslide, of course, is the yee-haaaaaaaaaw at the end.) At the end of the slide, I punch the gas again to get them back tires spinning, let that bad ass engine straighten me back out, then coast till I'm at the respectable speed of 70mph. In a 35mph zone.
I was in complete control the entire time, but damn if it was fun. Kinda forgot how beefy my truckzilla was after getting so used to Dad's factory model. Meh. At least now I can try to make up for some of that lost time. I go over the next hill, and what do I see?
Dammit, I done run out of road. Time to merge back into the rest of traffic, and slowly slip past the cops now that I'm in the city limits. =P