Harkening back to a Saturday morning during college days 1971 on old and familiar hilly, curvy, heavily travelled two lane Hwy 10 between Lawrence KS and Kansas City, my wife to be in the passenger seat, we were half way to her parents' house for a "yes, we have been good kids" visit.
Windows down, behind the wheel of my 67 Impala love machine, I was cruising along in my too frequent weekend semi-hung over state. Let's just say I didn't have the loud stuff cranked up on the eight track yet nor was I trying to find the limits of adhesion even though I imagine we were hitting a legal 70 mph. Fully alert, 10 and 2? Maybe not 100%, but otherwise as content as could be given the upcoming agenda at the in-laws.
Just shy of a small town outside of KC, we crest a hill, complete a left horizontal curve heading down the hill toward a rail crossing located at the bottom of the hill and just before a gentle right turn which would take us into town, both curves big enough not to require any foot work. At 70mph, we are maybe 250 feet prior to crossing the tracks which are marked only with cross-bucks, when lo and behold, driving requires all my senses.
The game changer is my hood release bracket gives way and the hood is pinned against the windshield immediately with the compromised hinges/springs keeping it there. It is a very, very big hood.
I stuck my head out the window to spot the centerline and drifted to the right shoulder and lifted off the gas. Realizing I could go only so far to the right til I heard us cross the tracks, I kept it there for a second or two (seeming like an eternity) and after the tracks let the car put two wheels off on the earth shoulders knowing I had to err to the right as the car slowed. A couple of more seconds and with speed down to where I thought we could keep the shiny side up I braked and pulled further right to uneventful stop off the road.
Fully alert at this point, and feeling damned lucky.
