Excerpt From:
There Was Beer All Over the Dance Floor
(Growing
up in a Rock and Roll Band)
From Chapter Four: Oh, Those Hot Summer Nights
The Band gets its
Wings
It was a stupid
thing to do. I’m talking all kinds of
stupid. Dumb, dumb, dumb! You read about things like this in the papers
all the time: “teenagers die in fiery crash.
Speed was a factor…” I can look
back in retrospect and would like to say that it was the dumbest thing I've
done. Unfortunately, there are piles
more; and that’s only in this book!
We were back
to the Reedsburg Bowling Alley and Sue’s car.
It was another weekend night, and another request from Jeff to borrow
the keys to the car. This time she knew
darned well what was going on, but seemed to agree faster this time. Her warning this time was, “You better not
get caught or all our asses will be in trouble.”
Warning
noted and filed, and off we went. The
two Jeff’s were driving and “shotgun” while Scott and I took up the back. We decided we would cruise the little country
roads outside of town so as not to attract unwanted police detection. All along the little narrow roads are
breathtaking hills, valleys, dips, and hairpin corners enough to scare the be-jeepers
out of even the bravest Formula 1 driver.
Of course, we were bulletproof fifteen year olds that knew no fear and
proved that to ourselves by pushing the physical limits of boy and
machine.
One of
these roads was Reedsburg Road, a long straight stretch that paralleled the
main highway leading to the town. One
feature of this road named the “three kings,” which is exactly as it sounds:
three crowned hills in quick succession.
If you ever had a dad or mom with a twinkle in their eyes when they
drove, they probably did that thing where they would accelerate until the top
of the hill and let off the gas. The
quick change in speed and altitude would make your belly hop and tickle your
tummy. Of course, if you kept your foot
on the gas and accelerated further, you could jump over the road Dukes of
Hazard-style.
That’s just
what Jeff did. He revved that old
Chrysler up to 70 miles per hour and punched it just as we were going over the
last “king.” Then it just happened: This
three thousand, three hundred and ninety pound hunk of Detroit metal just took
all four wheels off the road. The thing
bucked like a bronco as Scott and I bumped our heads on the ceiling. Everything happened in slow motion as we
reached for the stars, and then all too soon fell to earth. I saw the front-end nose down into what
looked like a very steep ditch.
Fortunately,
Jeff was adept at driving even at fifteen, and managed to touch down the
aircraft onto the tarmac properly with little more than squeals from the wide
front tires. He came from a racing
family, you see and well… all I can tell you that we never tried that
particular maneuver ever again. Four
boys stopped the car as fast as humanly possible after pulling to the side of
the road, and took a life-affirming world-class piss.
If you ever
travel down Reedsburg road nowadays, located a couple of miles on the eastern
edge of town there is a flat spot that does not follow the natural contour of
the land. This is where the three kings
used to be located. Now it is bulldozed,
flattened, and widened. Apparently, we
were not the only wisenheimers that nearly did themselves in by trying that
trick. I know the poor car never did
work quite the same after that. We
laughed about it for years and even suggested we find some winged pins (like
the WWII Pilots used to wear) to honor ourselves the night the band earned its’
wings.
