That Country Squire . . .
Reminded me of a funny story. When I was in college in the early '80s I had a buddy who was a short kid with red hair, inevitably named Rusty. He'd grown up as a military brat, and went to high school in Germany. He told me of learning to drive in his mom's loaded early '70s Country Squire with the 429 V-8. If one of his parents was with him on the autobahn he was restricted to 100 mph . . . however, if he managed to get out alone he said it would wrap the old strip speedo right past the 120 mark. I'd love to have seen the looks on the faces of other drivers on the autobahn after seeing that woodgrain monster passing them at warp speed, with a mop of bright red hair barely visible behind the steering wheel . . .
Reminded me of a funny story. When I was in college in the early '80s I had a buddy who was a short kid with red hair, inevitably named Rusty. He'd grown up as a military brat, and went to high school in Germany. He told me of learning to drive in his mom's loaded early '70s Country Squire with the 429 V-8. If one of his parents was with him on the autobahn he was restricted to 100 mph . . . however, if he managed to get out alone he said it would wrap the old strip speedo right past the 120 mark. I'd love to have seen the looks on the faces of other drivers on the autobahn after seeing that woodgrain monster passing them at warp speed, with a mop of bright red hair barely visible behind the steering wheel . . .