The year was 1989. Just after high school but still in our “indestructible” years, Tom Stoker, Helen Spruill, Acosta, me and various other Crazies were walking along late one night near Military Road. There on the side of the road among various pieces of equipment was a street sweeper innocently awaiting the next day’s work. It just so happened that a Toyota key on my key chain fit the unfortunate vehicle. Who knew?
Everyone looked over as the little flap on the top of the smoke stack stood up, and the engine roared to life. Mickeys and MB’s were set aside as Acosta and Stoker jumped on board. Down Military road we went. Slow at first, but upon locating 12th gear, we had a pretty good pace going. I can still hear Helen’s tennis shoes as she chased us… giving up as we gained speed.
At first it was a random trash bag. The beast ate it up – no problem. Then a mail box – not so easy. Then came the big leagues. At the encouragement of Acosta, we ran over a whole string of boxwood bushes in someone’s yard. Next was about 6 full metal trash cans. Then more trash cans. It looked like a tornado in a trailer park behind us.
We wound our way down onto Glebe road by chain bridge with Tommy Stoker at the sticks. He turned onto the median strip and began taking down small trees. Gear down, Suese! Gear down! Tommy worked the levers. As he took on a 5 inch sapling, the front end buckled under and the motor stalled. Game over! We restarted the ole girl and returned her to her parking spot to rest as the distant sounds of police sirens grew louder.
I'm sure there are 100 more stories like this.
Hays
