Posted By:
BookenHeimer (spider-wd082.proxy.aol.com)
Date: Thursday December 30 [12:21:02 PM]
As you all know, I’ve had some bloody embarrassing road kills in my day. I’ve been spanked by a lousy diesel school bus, humiliated by a freaking blimp, etc., etc.. Well, what happened to me yesterday makes them all seem dignified by comparison. This is truly unbelievable, but I’m here to tell you – it really happened.
I was rolling through a residential part of Santa Clara, on my way back to the office after a noon CostCo run. (Had to score some munchies for Saturday’s Rose Bowl, when the Badger’s are going to thoroughly punk Stanford, and I grabbed some “cheap” 92 octane while there too). Anyway, this is your typical, middle class, ranch house neighborhood. I was on Benton Street. Benton cuts across a mile or two of rows of houses and connects the San Tomas Expressway to the Lawrence Expressway. While not faster than taking a major thorough fare, Benton is much more direct, plus I was in the mood for some peace and quite.
A Benton Street can be found in Any Town U.S.A.. Kids are playing in several front yards. Every other garage has a basketball hoop mounted on it. The street itself sports 25 MPH limits, except in school zones, where it drops to 15. Its a quiet, two lane street with no center lines. Tree lined on both sides. It is part of a checkerboard grid design that was so popular when these cities were planned in the mid 1950’s. Traffic has to stop at the end of every block on Benton. There are four way stops about every 500 feet or so, as it intersects with another Benton’ish street, and makes its way through the grid.
Its been a gorgeous autumn/ winter in Northern California, and yesterday was no exception. All the leaves are still on the trees here, of course, and it was a clear blue sky, sunny 70 degree day with no breeze at all. I was rolling through the 1600 block of Benton, windows down, roof open, a Quincy Jones CD playing not to loudly in the background. Ahead I can see that there’s three more stop signs, then a stop light at a semi-major boulevard, then another row of four or five stop signs. Like I said, this isn’t the fastest route across town, but speed wasn’t my goal. I’m just lolly gagging along, trying not to think about what might have happened to Bill99GXE, naked in that gay bar.
So anyway, I’m rolling along mid-block, looking at the houses with their Lexus and Acura filled driveways, doing 15 maybe 20 MPH. I roll up to the next stop sign, pop her into neutral and begin checking both directions for traffic. Its twelve noon on December 29th – there’s not another car in sight. So I slip her into first and begin letting out the clutch. As I do this, I hear what sounds like a little kids voice coming in through my passenger window:
Kid’s voice: “Is that supposed to be a fast car, mister?”
I immediately take my right foot off of the gas and stab the brake peddle – afraid that there was some unseen kid in the street that I might run over! I look around, out my window, through the windshield to the front, out the passenger window – nothing. I check over my shoulders and glare out the rear windows – still nothing. So now I’m thinking that I must be going nuts. I’m starting to hear voices for crying out loud.
Then it dawns on me….the CD. Its probably that wacky Quincy, messing with people. But MAN that sounded so real. Satisfied that I was indeed not nuts & had successfully identified the source of the mystery voice. I slip the car into first & start down the next block.
Some 500 feet later I roll to a stop at the next four-way intersection, and begin looking for cars. None to be seen. As I’m putting the transmission into first gear, I hear the same little kid’s voice:
Kid’s voice: “I guess its not that fast, if that’s all you can do.”
WTF???!! Now, I’ve been listening to Quincy Jones for years, and I’ve had this CD for at least five months and I’ve NEVER heard that part before. As clear and audible as it was, I surely would have. Now I’m dumb-founded, and determined to find out what in the hell is going on here. I reach down, kill the volume and just sit in silence – waiting for the voice to return. Sure enough:
Kid’s voice: “I thought those Maxima’s were faster cars. How come yours is so slow?”
Now this time I know I heard it. I lean over the emergency brake and center console and peer out the open passenger window. By craning my neck as far as I can, I see him. There he is. A little kid, who looks to be five, maybe six years old, is sitting there grinning at me. The kid is actually in the street, occupying the same lane that I am. He’s sitting on a Tyco Big Wheel, you know, those plastic, lowered tricycles with a huge wheel in front that you peddle. He’s about one foot from my passenger door.
This kid is Opie Taylor if ever I saw him. Flame red hair, a face speckled with red freckles, and an ear to ear grin revealing four or five missing teeth. I don’t know quite what to make of the situation. I certainly don’t want to get into an argument in the middle of the street with a five year old about how fast my car is.
Booker: “Ahhh, yeh kid, they’re pretty fast.”
Kid: “Not from where I’m sitting they’re not. You wanna race? I bet I can beat ya.”
This is unbelievable! This stupid kid wants to RACE me. I’ve heard of over active imaginations before, but this kid takes the cake.
Booker: “No, that’s ok. Ahh, maybe next time.”
Kid: “What’s the matter…you chicken?! Ha! That’s it, isn’t it?!! You’re just a big chicken, girly man!”
Now this is getting personal, the punk just called me a girly man. I can’t believe this, I’m actually being verbally taunted by a five year old, and challenged to a race on top of that. Man, parenting is a lost art in this country. Well, I can feel myself getting steamed, and since I can’t get out and get into dukes with a five year old – I decide the best thing to do is just to get out of there.
Booker: “No, I’m not afraid – I just don’t think it would be very fair….”
(the kid interrupts me mid-sentence)
Kid: “You’re right it wouldn’t be fair – I’d blow you doors off, you pansy whimp!!”
This kid is too much. The mouth on him! I’m outta here.
Booker (settling back into my seat): “Yeh, right kid. Listen, you’d better stay on the side walk and off of the street.”
With that I put my car into first and ease away from the stop line. I go slowly because I know that this insane kid is just a foot from my car and the LAST thing I need is having to deal with what would happen if I ran his little butt over. By mid block I’m already into second gear and am coasting down to the next stop sign. I’m doing my best to just forget the whole episode, I mean, after all it was just a stupid kid. But you know how you get when someone challenges you and you have to back down – that’s a tough pill to swallow. Anyway, I’m now at the next stop sign and doing my best to forget the whole thing. As I place the tranny into first, I’m jolted in my seat by the sound of the SAME kids voice coming in through my passenger window:
Kid’s voice: “Either this car sucks, or you can’t drive! Or BOTH!”
WTF???????!!!!!!!!!
Again I strain to lean over and peer out the passenger window, and again – there he is! Sitting there on his stupid big wheel, with that same stupid grin on his chops, eyeballing me!
WTF????????!!!!!!!
Alright, now this is starting to get just plain weird. I KNOW that I left this little jerk-off back at the last intersection. And I know that I was doing probably around 25 MPH in second gear - there’s no way that he could’ve stayed with me on that little bity toy. Something’s up & I’m going to find out what. I lean over the passenger seat and start barking at the kid:
Booker: “Say, how did you….”
Kid (cuts me off again): “How did I beat your sorry butt? Is that what you were going to ask? Hmmmm? I wonder. Could it be because…This car is trash!?”
Alright, its apparent that I’m not going to get any info out of this kid. So I get to thinking about the whole set up, suddenly it comes to me – TWINS! That’s got to be it. There’s not just one kid, there’s two. They’re identical twins and this is their scam. That’s got to be it. One sit at one stop sign, the other hides near the next stop sign & they play this stupid game on motorists. Messing with people’s heads is what they’re doing. Well I’m onto their little gig & intend to burst little Skippy’s bubble right now.
Booker: “Alright, alright…I’m onto you kids. You and your brother will just have to find another dupe. You’ve got to get up pretty early in the morning to fool theBooker. Now stay out of the way, I’ve got to get going.”
With that, I stab it into first and pull away from the intersection. My start was probably a little bit too aggressive for such a sleepy neighborhood, but these kids were bugging me, and when theBooker gets bugged, he drives fast. Period. I dropped the clutch hard, and ran it straight up to about 4,500 RPM’s in first, grabbed second and mashed it to around 4,000.
The car quickly covered the distance to the next intersection, Montague. Montague has a stop light, and the light is red. I have to press the brake peddle all the way to the floor in order to stop in time. I feel the peddle pulse beneath my foot as the ABS kicks in and the 3,200 pound Nissan digs in to a halt. I check my rear view mirror…no kids in sight. HA! That’ll learn those stupid little brats!
As I’m waiting for my green:
Kid’s voice (again through open passenger window): “Is that ALL this thing’s got?! Boy, these Maxima’s really ARE slow!”
………W………..!
……….T………..!
……….F………..!
I again lean over and leer out the window, and again – THERE HE IS!! Right besides me, just like at the last two intersections! This is unbelievable! Its like I’m living an episode of The Twilight Zone or something! Triplets?!?? What are the chances? But this CAN’T be the same kid…can it? I am thoroughly baffled, and it apparently showed.
Kid: “What, you’ve never seen a Big Wheel before.”
After about 30 seconds, I finally regain some composure.
Booker: “Alright kid, what’s the deal here? What the…”
Again, the kid rudely interrupts me:
Kid: “Awww, maybe we shouldn’t race after all. A few things are obvious.”
Booker: “LIKE WHAT?!!”
Kid: “Well, that your car is a big slow pig, that you can’t drive it, and that you’re a great big fat chicken.”
Ok, I’ve had enough. Now, its normally not my style to go around picking on kids, but this is no ordinary kid. He’s doing all that he can to get under my skin. I don’t know where this kid gets off, or what he’s been sniffing that makes him think that he can race cars on a toy – but its high time for his reality check to bounce. And I’m just the bank teller to handle the job.
Booker: “Alright, you little wise #$@%!. I’ve had about enough of you. Its on!”
Suddenly the kids face starts beaming at the prospects of a race. He looks across the intersection at the empty quarter mile of street ahead of us, and then back at me.
Kid: “You saying that you want a piece of me, mister?”
Booker: “Nah kid, I don’t want a piece….I want the WHOLE THING!”
With that I settle back into my seat and start getting into “race mode”. I begin putting up the windows and hit the ‘close’ direction on the moon roof button. Stereo and fan get switched off. I’m going to destroy this freckle-faced, Tiny Tike’s ride’n, buffoon and teach his barely out of diapers butt a lesson he won’t soon forget. He’ll be peeling rubber off of his @$$ for days!
As I’m getting into race mode, the idiocy of what I’m doing dawns on me. I can’t believe that I’m actually going to do this. “Derrick, it’s a kid on a TOY! What the hell is wrong with you?”. The lunacy of the entire situation is incredible. But hey, he’s been just begging for it. I HAVE to do this to protect my manhood!
So here we go. Nestled in my seat, I can just barely see the top of the kids hair next to my passenger side, side-view mirror. I check cross traffic, (there is none), and then check my nemesis again. He’s now about even with my right wheel arch! I can see his entire head. He’s creeping up on me!!!
Now he’s up, dead even with my front bumper. The little Napoleon is staging me up! At this point I can see his shoulders, neck and head. He turns and glares at me over his left shoulder. Then he grits his teeth at me!! Arrggghhh! The little……!…
No WAY I’m standing for that. So I clutch and give the loud peddle a mashing – revving to 5,000 RPM’s in neutral. The growl of the Stillen intake catches him off guard and he flinches. HA!!! How’ya like them apples, junior!
I turn my attention from the kid and back to the intersection, just as the cross light turns yellow. Here we go. No cross traffic, and about 3 seconds until green. I rev to 2,600 RPM’s and wait. (I can’t believe that I’m actually going to do this).
Yellow, …yellow, ….RED. A fraction of a second later, our light turns green. I no more than start to lift my foot off of the clutch – and the kid BOLTS out into the intersection in a haze of smoke!! WTF!!??!! He tears out of the hole, leaving two thick black marks on the concrete and the smell of burning plastic in the air, as the Big Wheels absolutely SHREDS the four inch wide rear wheels!
I get the clutch completely disengaged and am into the gas. I get a near perfect launch with just a *chirp* of the front. My right foot is firmly into the carpet as the tach screams past 4000 en route to redline. I’m nearly across the intersection. I look up and the kid is now half way down the block!! OH MY GAWD!!!
This race is so far from being close it isn’t even funny. Its like the Roadrunner leaving the Coyote in his tracks. Picture a race from a standing start between a Humvee and the Concorde, and that’s what you have here – it was that ugly.
I stay on the gas until the VQ bumps into the rev limiter. (Like an idiot) I keep my right foot planted on the floor boards, clutch, cram her into second and let the clutch out. The Max responds by leaving about five feet of rubber on the street. The new Sumitomo’s finally find enough traction, grip up and launch the 3,200 pound slab of metal and leather like a rocket. Its all for naught.
I look up and see that the kid has already passed through the next intersection and is nearly half way down the NEXT block. He’s pulled an eighth of a mile on me in a quarter mile race!! Oh the humility! What in that #@$!* is going on here? This ISN’T happening! By the top of second I’ve reached the next stop sign and slam on the brakes. I sit in stunned silence at the stop sign. The kid is no where in sight. Just the lingering smell of burned plastic.
To say that I’d lost the race would be the biggest understatement in history. I lost so badly, that there really wasn’t a race. I’d have done just as well on foot! The kid is altogether GONE! This kid just totally tore me a new $#%hole! And did it in royal fashion. I’ve never seen anything that fast.
After a minute I break out of my stupor and continue down Benton Street. Completely baffled, I have no hope of ever forgetting what had just happened. Roadkilled by a kid on a toy. I’ll never forget the sight of the back of his little red head, all hunched down behind those yellow handle bars as that thing rocketed across the street like a top-fuel dragster.
I had driven about three more blocks, when I saw it. I passed a rather ordinary house on the right side of the street, which happened to have the garage door open. Nothing strange about that, but for some reason I looked into the garage – and there that Big Wheel was! It’s the kids house! I swing the Max into the driveway, hop out and approach the Big Wheel. Once I got up to it, I reached down and touched one of the rear wheels.
*OUCH*!!
It burned my finger! The plastic was pooling on the garage floor around the rear wheels, from where the intense heat had actually MELTED them. I squat down to get a look at the toy. On closer inspection, I see that there’s a tiny bottle secured beneath the back of the toy, with little hoses running to and fro to the wheels. The little metal cylinder is about the size of a Bionca Blast bottle (if you know that that is). I lay on my stomach in the middle of the garage to get a closer look – it’s a NITROS SYSTEM! This stinking Big Wheels is running 50 shot! Now I’ve just GOT to get to the bottom of this!
I walk over to the garage door entrance to the house and knock. A minute later a man answers the door:
Man: “Hi,…can I help you?”
Booker: “Yes, ahh…this my sound strange but….I’d like to ask you a few questions (pointing at the toy) about that big wheel.”
Looking into the driveway at my heavily modded Maxima, the man gets a very agitated look on his face. He eyes the toy for a few moments and takes note of the nearly liquefied rear wheels. Suddenly he turns and angrily starts shouting back into the house:
Man: “JSOLO!! JSOLO YOU GET DOWN HERE, RIGHT NOW!!!
Booker: “Jsolo?”
Man: “Yeh, that’s my son’s name. JSOLO!! I SAID GET OUT HERE!”
Booker: “You mean his NAME is Jsolo?”
Man: “Yeh,…stupid, huh? It was my wife’s idea really. JSOLO!”
Booker: “But, I think I know a guy named…”
Man (cuts me off): “Listen, don’t ask…it’s a long story. JSOLO!!”
A second later, the same little red headed kid appears behind the man. As soon as the kid sees me, he shrinks down into his shirt. He’s busted and he knows it. His father starts barking at him:
Man: “HAVE YOU BEEN OUT RACING ON THE BIG WHEEL AGAIN?!!”
The boy doesn’t respond, his eyes just begin welling up with tears.
Man: “WELL? And you’d BETTER tell me the truth!”
The boy just nods yes to his father.
Man: “Ok, and WHAT did you mother and I tell you would happen if we found out that you were out racing?!!”
The kid can’t take any more and breaks down crying.
Man: “That’ s right – you are grounded GOOD, young man. No more Big Wheel for the rest of the school year. Do you hear me?!”
The kid takes off, bawling, back into the house. The man turns back to me and takes a step out into the garage.
Man: “Look, I’m sorry if…”
Booker: “No, no – no harm done. I was just curious how in the dickens a Big Wheel could possibly move so fast.”
Man: “Yeh, its damned fast, isn’t it? We’re estimating it could do about an eight second quarter mile.”
Booker: “WHAT!?!”
Man: “Well it COULD, but there’s not enough traction. See this…”
The man swings open the door to an adjacent closet. The closet is completey filled from top to bottom with melted, spent, Big Wheel plastic wheels. There must be two hundred of them.
Man: “The kid only weighs about 55 pounds and we’re guessing that its getting close to 200 horsepower at the wheels – so it can’t keep from spinning the tires like crazy. So it just spins and spins, and never does get traction. That kid can keep the wheels spinning at wide open throttle for a mile or more.”
At this point my jaw is on the ground. This entire scene is just too much to believe.
Man: “Yeh, its set up with a full nitrous system that’s pretty hot. But we’d told the kid, ‘no more racing’ until my brother and I can get the thing worked out. Its just costing me too much money in new wheels! Down at the Toys’R-us, they aren’t exactly GIVING those things away. But you know kids…”
Realizing that I must be looking pretty stupid, I manage to say something:
Booker: “Uh, yeh..heh, kids.”
Man: “Any way – so, sorry. Don’t think anything of it though, he just likes going out and messing with sports car drivers. What can I say? Kids.”
We talked for a few more moments, then I walked back to my car and hopped in, scratching my head the whole time. ‘What kind of parents turn a five year old kid loose with an eight second Big Wheel? I sort of felt bad for getting the kid in trouble, but then, he made his own bed – now he’s just sleeping in it.
At least the whole thing made some sense now. Every time I pulled away from a stop sign, the reason I couldn’t see the kid was because he was just staying right next to me. Until our race at the stop light, that little punk was just staying right on my door. The whole thing is just too surreal. But now I had an even bigger issue on my hands.
As I backed out of the driveway I realized that I had to decide whether or not to write about this to the BBS. After all, its pretty embarrassing. And if I did write about it, do I title it “Roadkilled!! By a Kid on a Nos’d Big Wheel” or “Roadkilled!! By Jsolo”.
I guess, by the title of this post, you can see my decision. Damn that Jsolo.
...imagine a nice photograph of my nicely modded Pebble Beige Max. A long description of everything that I've done to it (including the MT-90 tranmission oil upgrade), and some witty reference to AStBBST...here. And there you have my sig. thx
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