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Once upon a time, when I was sixteen, my main vehicle was a 78' police package Chevy Nova muscle car. My parents had owned this beast since before I was born and when I "came of age" to drive, it was the only thing available to take to school. And it might have been cool had it not been this warped insane greenish color. (Which Rob painted it). That and it got fewer miles per gallon than a Hummer carrying a load of anvils. My Chemistry teacher, who was a real character, christened it "the Sanders-mobile".
One quirk this car had was that the speedometer didn't work. That's right. A V8 ex-police car and you had to just guess what speed you were going. If there was no traffic around, well, you were on your own. Fortunately, I was never caught speeding despite one epic drag race I had with my friend Brad on highway 201. (Story for another day, and yes, I won.)
So while the broken speedometer was never a problem for me directly, it did contribute to my triple warning.
At this time in my life I worked at Hale Centre Theatre. A family friendly musical/comedy theatre that still operates today in West Valley. I loved this job because it was easy, classy, and very social. Certainly a leg above fast food and/or being a janitor, which were the main options for a 16 year old. A downside, however, was that I had to wear a goofy looking tuxedo shirt and slacks every day.
So one day I dressed quickly, because I was running late as usual, and hopped in my '78 muscle car while wearing my goofy tux shirt and nice dark pants. I started the car but noticed the fuel gauge didn't move. Either the car was very low on gas or else this gauge, like the speedometer had broken, I guessed it was the latter and blasted off to work. I made it without any trouble. Figuring I had guessed right, I didn't give it another thought.
I did my usual shift, which took a couple of hours, and left in the dark of night. (I don't remember the time of year but I'm thinking late winter/early spring.) I cruised onto I-215 and as I neared the curvy off-ramp onto Highway 201 the car sputtered and didn't accelerate when I hit the gas. I let up and then pushed down again, and then it worked. Briefly. I got to the off-ramp just as the car lost power altogether. So, with just momentum, I glided down the ramp and managed to pull the car over maybe a hundred feet past the bridge. Only then did it occur to me that yes, I was in fact out of gas.
Since I'd spent many, many hours of my life on various trips, vacations, etc on the side of the road (we've always owned old cars) I didn't panic. I hopped out and raised the hood, the universal sign of a driver in distress. Then I sat back in the car, wearing my goofy clothes, and waited. Wishing I had one of those expensive cell phones.
I was there for quite a while. But eventually someone pulled over. He was the older brother of a kid I vaguely knew, I can't remember his name, but he was a really nice guy. But, for whatever reason, he pulled his car over and flipped it around to face mine. I'm guessing he thought I needed a jump start. But anyway, now his car was facing the wrong way on the freeway. Something that, apparently, cops really don't like.
When I told him I was out of fuel he let me use my phone to call my dad and ask him to bring some gasoline. Then we waited in the heat of his car, just talking. That's when the UHP decided to show up. The police car turned on his lights (but not his sirens) and pulled up behind my car. We went outside and met him halfway. The first thing he did was chew out the guy who stopped to help. Saying how he really should write him a serious ticket for flipping his car around, he pretty much chased him off. In fact I think he explicitly told this guy to leave. So he got out of there in a hurry. Then the cop asked me what was wrong with my car.
Since I wasn't 100% sure the smart thing would have been to say "I'm not sure." But instead I told him what I thought was wrong "I'm out of gas." Apparently that's illegal. This I did not know.
He told me how it was an $80 ticket to run out of gas on the freeway and how he really should write me up but felt generous and would instead give me a warning.
"License, registration, and proof of insurance."
I fished for it all in the glovebox of the nova and explained that I didn't use the car all the time and so wasn't very familiar with where all the documentation was. This is true, I drove the car between home and school pretty regularly but that was it. And usually took the Suburban to work. I didn't find the registration so I gave him my license, proof of insurance, and my sincere apologies. He wasn't happy about it but he took them and went back to his car. A few minutes later he approached again, a little mad that my proof of insurance was expired. Now my violations were at three.
But since I had no marks against my record he gave me a warning. It cited me for running out of gas on the freeway, failing to provide proof of ownership, and failing to provide proof of insurance. Then he took off. Warning me briefly that if I couldn't get someone to bring me gas that I needed to push the car off the road. I was a scrawny sixteen year old and the Nova is a huge car made of what seems like solid steel.
"Uh sure, no problem," I said.
Then the cop took off. Not wanting to waste any time, I guess. I looked at my warning kind of proudly then waited for my dad, who showed up almost immediately after. We gassed up the car (and yes that had been the problem) and brought it home. The end.
One quirk this car had was that the speedometer didn't work. That's right. A V8 ex-police car and you had to just guess what speed you were going. If there was no traffic around, well, you were on your own. Fortunately, I was never caught speeding despite one epic drag race I had with my friend Brad on highway 201. (Story for another day, and yes, I won.)
So while the broken speedometer was never a problem for me directly, it did contribute to my triple warning.
At this time in my life I worked at Hale Centre Theatre. A family friendly musical/comedy theatre that still operates today in West Valley. I loved this job because it was easy, classy, and very social. Certainly a leg above fast food and/or being a janitor, which were the main options for a 16 year old. A downside, however, was that I had to wear a goofy looking tuxedo shirt and slacks every day.
So one day I dressed quickly, because I was running late as usual, and hopped in my '78 muscle car while wearing my goofy tux shirt and nice dark pants. I started the car but noticed the fuel gauge didn't move. Either the car was very low on gas or else this gauge, like the speedometer had broken, I guessed it was the latter and blasted off to work. I made it without any trouble. Figuring I had guessed right, I didn't give it another thought.
I did my usual shift, which took a couple of hours, and left in the dark of night. (I don't remember the time of year but I'm thinking late winter/early spring.) I cruised onto I-215 and as I neared the curvy off-ramp onto Highway 201 the car sputtered and didn't accelerate when I hit the gas. I let up and then pushed down again, and then it worked. Briefly. I got to the off-ramp just as the car lost power altogether. So, with just momentum, I glided down the ramp and managed to pull the car over maybe a hundred feet past the bridge. Only then did it occur to me that yes, I was in fact out of gas.
Since I'd spent many, many hours of my life on various trips, vacations, etc on the side of the road (we've always owned old cars) I didn't panic. I hopped out and raised the hood, the universal sign of a driver in distress. Then I sat back in the car, wearing my goofy clothes, and waited. Wishing I had one of those expensive cell phones.
I was there for quite a while. But eventually someone pulled over. He was the older brother of a kid I vaguely knew, I can't remember his name, but he was a really nice guy. But, for whatever reason, he pulled his car over and flipped it around to face mine. I'm guessing he thought I needed a jump start. But anyway, now his car was facing the wrong way on the freeway. Something that, apparently, cops really don't like.
When I told him I was out of fuel he let me use my phone to call my dad and ask him to bring some gasoline. Then we waited in the heat of his car, just talking. That's when the UHP decided to show up. The police car turned on his lights (but not his sirens) and pulled up behind my car. We went outside and met him halfway. The first thing he did was chew out the guy who stopped to help. Saying how he really should write him a serious ticket for flipping his car around, he pretty much chased him off. In fact I think he explicitly told this guy to leave. So he got out of there in a hurry. Then the cop asked me what was wrong with my car.
Since I wasn't 100% sure the smart thing would have been to say "I'm not sure." But instead I told him what I thought was wrong "I'm out of gas." Apparently that's illegal. This I did not know.
He told me how it was an $80 ticket to run out of gas on the freeway and how he really should write me up but felt generous and would instead give me a warning.
"License, registration, and proof of insurance."
I fished for it all in the glovebox of the nova and explained that I didn't use the car all the time and so wasn't very familiar with where all the documentation was. This is true, I drove the car between home and school pretty regularly but that was it. And usually took the Suburban to work. I didn't find the registration so I gave him my license, proof of insurance, and my sincere apologies. He wasn't happy about it but he took them and went back to his car. A few minutes later he approached again, a little mad that my proof of insurance was expired. Now my violations were at three.
But since I had no marks against my record he gave me a warning. It cited me for running out of gas on the freeway, failing to provide proof of ownership, and failing to provide proof of insurance. Then he took off. Warning me briefly that if I couldn't get someone to bring me gas that I needed to push the car off the road. I was a scrawny sixteen year old and the Nova is a huge car made of what seems like solid steel.
"Uh sure, no problem," I said.
Then the cop took off. Not wanting to waste any time, I guess. I looked at my warning kind of proudly then waited for my dad, who showed up almost immediately after. We gassed up the car (and yes that had been the problem) and brought it home. The end.
