Tall tales; Also, the Not-So-Humble-Brag Thread

Quote: odiousgambit

wow, Face, this stuff is just pouring out of you now. I'll try to catch up.

It's strange... every now and again, reminiscing seems to get stimulated. Dunno why, but suddenly memories come flooding back, more than usual And many of these experiences have caused inside jokes or new terms to be used, and we still use them today. Especially talking to my best friend, these things get brought up often. I dunno, thought it would be fun to share.

Got another one cooking up, just for the hell of it =)

I gave up telling this one years ago, because it is just not believable. Even when I have the witnesses who were present, up to all four of them, and all of them corroborate and finish or add different parts of the story, people still shake their heads and say "no way". It was the time I jumped a car with my car. On accident.

There's a road just up from my house that is gnarly, indeed. There's a series of 4 hills right in a row that are insanely steep and fall off just as severely. These aren't little knolls like you sometimes see a railroad crossings; they're legit hills. And if you take them at speed, you will get air.

My truck will lift a wheel at just a little over 50mph. The Subaru I drove at the time would lift all four at the same speed. So since I knew it and it was close, it was a common detour whenever we went cruising to go jump the hills. It was a good time, great fun, and all that stuff. And since it was so steep, and cars tend to nose over when sent airborne, the landings were always just perfect. All 4 wheels, all at the same time. No bottoming out, no extreme stresses on the suspension, you know... the good stuff. The stuff that made sure mom couldn't tell I was jumping her car ;)

Well, of course I couldn't settle for hitting it at 50. If 50 was fun, 60 would be great fun, right? So I started going faster and faster and faster. It always got a great response from friends or girls I took for a cruise. Before long, I was hitting it at 70-80mph and bombing it. The kind of air where all the loose change and random car garbage comes off the floor and floats around the cabin.

There was a rec center where we played basketball every weekend night all winter. I was the elder and the only one who could drive, so I'd make the rounds, grab all the guys, and tote them all there. Eventually, this detour became our post game ritual. I sort of started over on account of having 600 extra lbs in the car, but 50 gave way to 60, 60 to 70, and soon I was right back up to 80 and just bombing it.

I dunno what got into me, but one day on one of these detours I decided I was just going to go for it. 90mph. No run up, no testing at 82 - 84 - 86, just straight bomb it. So once we weaved up into the road and started going down the hill to the approach, I just matted it.

Now, it's nighttime. Night is the only time I'd do it because it was the only way to ensure no other cars were coming. Once I got to where I started climbing the hill, I'd flick off the lights. If another car was coming up the other side, I'd see their lights and call it off. It only happened once, it's a pretty desolate road. But that was SOP. I might be crazy. I'm not an idiot =p

So I come ripping down the hill on the approach and reach the ascent. It's time for the light check. At that time I also looked down for the speed check... ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN ><

The lights went out the window.

Whether a car or a wheeler or dirt bike, all are sensitive to pre-launch inputs once in the air. Going airborne was a given; I was well past the point of no return. Doing any sort of deceleration input was just going to increase the nosing over that the car already suffered anyways. There was no advanced thought that I could theoretically land on the nose and go end over end down the road, but I knew it would be a hard nose landing that would be impossible to hide from mom. So all I could do, all I had time for, was to immediately but briefly come full off the gas, hoping engine compression and gravity would scrub me off some, and then go back to full pin for lift off. I come off for about a "one one thousand" count, and mat it.

Now, I live in America, obviously. We drive on the right. We drive left hand drive cars. So you know where we sit in relation to the road - just a tick right of center. Just as the front of the car lifts off, I see it. HEADLIGHTS. And they're RIGHT F#$%ING THERE.

The oncoming car's left headlight was just right of center of my own hood. It wasn't a perfect head on, it was offset. But it was closer to head on than it wasn't. And s#$%, I'm in the freaking air! There's no evasive maneuvers for me. And it was RIGHT THERE. Even an F1 car doesn't have the grip to have evaded that contact. All I could do is instinctively squeeze my eyes shut and brace for impact.

That fear hit me... and then there was nothing. I realized there was nothing. If I can think "hey, there's nothing", then I haven't hit anything. I should've hit something. I didn't. I open my eyes. I'm still in the air.

The car, having launched so high and so far, started to rotate on axis like a barrel roll. Not severe, but there wasn't going to be the smooth, four wheel flat landing. Everything clears out of my head and I'm ready for it. It lands left side first, causing it to lurch towards the right. I catch it easily, fishtailing just a little bit in the dirt on the shoulder with correction. Landed, saved, back on the road, heading the correct direction. I look in the mirror and the other car is just stopped dead in the road on top of the hill, brake lights blazing.

My brain empties again. About the time I start to think of what just happened, the car explodes in shouting "HOLY S#$%!" "DUDE, WE JUMPED THAT CAR!" OH MY F#$%ING GOD!" Hoots and hollers and the unintelligible gibberish of very excited teens. I didn't say a word. I continued to coast, still going fast enough to hop the next hill, and just coasted and coasted until I was back down to about 40. The backseat was still exploding. Oh yeah, I had 4 other guys with me. Just going nuts about the whole thing. I felt like I was turning inside out, the sort of nausea you only get when you actually look the God of Death right in his cold, empty eyes. My best friend, sitting shotgun, also hadn't said a word.

The chatter began to simmer, I heard one say "Hey, Face hasn't said anything", and I didn't. I wouldn't. I couldn't. I just carried on off the road into town, dropped each of them off without a word, and went home. Not until I got home and shut it off did I say something. I don't even remember what it was, but up until that point, neither me nor my best friend made a peep. Not until home and safe did we talk and try to make sense of what just happened.

I never found out who I jumped. In a small town, I thought it was certain I'd catch an ass chewing sometime that week, but nothing ever came of it. And the detour got retired for automotive fun a little less insane (not necessarily sane, but not as insane). And I've never bombed that road again. I still "jump" it. The kid loves the way it makes his tummy tickle. But 45 it quite good enough for that =)

We had a series of hills exactly like that.
You could easily get air, but I never did.
I settled for the stomach churning feeling
of coming over the top. I'm not an daredevil.
At all. I had a friend who was, and that he's
still alive in his 60's is amazing. He hit a
tree with his car once just to see what would
happen. It totaled the car. Moron.