About 6 years ago I rode around in a 63' Dodge Polara 2-bbl 318 poly, nice smooth-ridin machine. My buddy had a mid 80's shortbed Chevy truck, all I know is that the Dodge was longer and probably weighed the same or a lil less. Mods known: 350 w/ throttle body, some kind of loud, farty dual glass-pack exhaust. Story goes me, him and a number of other peeps were at a deserted road probably 3/8 to 1/2 mile long before it goes to a dead-end with nothing but thick forest. He races a couple people, then he says he wants to race me. We line up, take off and the Dodge spins one tire for a few secs AND jumps out so that my bumper is even with his front bumper. I stay on it till about 90mph, at that point I'm about 5ft behind him and I take it back down to a halt just before the treeline, whew. My Polara surprised me that it could nearly hang with him.
2nd part of story goes....
Few days later its Friday, call Dad and say "Whatcha doin tonight?" he replies "Nothin'", so I drive over to his house to pay the Dodges insurance. About 3/4 mile away from his house my brakes hit the floor, I immediately apply the parking brake slightly, head to his house using the parking brake which damn near broke my foot a few times, thing had some kick
. Long story short, replaced a leaky hose on the front right tire the next morning after working late on it the night before. Bled and all ready to go, Dad says "Next time you call me on a Friday night..I'M DOIN' SUMTHIN!"
gotcha. Point is I got real lucky that the hose didnt go out a few nights before and then slam into the treeline or else I would've had a ginormous, steel steering wheel holding my ribcage together at best. I grew a bit more cautious after that, but I can say Dad didn't use up ALL the family luck