It’s mid-afternoon on a Saturday in December, 1976… my senior year at John Marshal High School in my home town of Rochester, Minnesota. I’m driving to school and I need to pick up Nancy on the way. I don’t know why I agreed to do this, but then I never know why I do anything Nancy asks me to do. I just do it. I’m not my usual happy self today. Just not in the mood. For some reason I feel like I’m waisting my Saturday by having to go to this special event planning thing.

This is unusual for me.

I’m one of those active seniors, in the choir, the concert band and the theater. I really enjoy the attention of the performance arts and have recently been getting into my earned position of responsibility in the ceramics lab. The art department has become my domain at school this first semester, and I’ve got plans for more. I’ve made that entire wing of school (where the art rooms and the theater and music rooms are) a comfortable place for me to be. I like going there, even on weekends… even to do these special event planning things.

But not today for some reason and to make it worse, I’m late. I’ve always been punctual. I like the idea that people can count on me. If someone asks me to do something and I agree to do it. I’m there, and I’m on time.

But it snowed last night and it took extra time for me to finish my chores and get going. I needed a dependable car so Dad let me take the Toyota. My beat up 1967 Mustang is running but the body is so rusted out, I’d never dream of expecting Nancy to ride in it. It would scare the shit outta her anyway. The 289 V8 was suped up with a Holly four barrel carb and a racing tranny. Last summer I once buried the needle at over a hundred and twenty. Man! The thing is fast. Fastest car I ever had.

So I’m driving the 1974 Toyota Hilux pickup truck that Dad bought last year. He got a great deal on it and it’s been the best vehicle he’s had in a long time. Cheap and easy to run, durable and very dependable. It’s Dad’s go-to car and he uses it all the time but he also has no qualms about letting me use it. The way things are going today, I’m lucky it’s there. The tight little 2.0 liter 18R engine whines a bit as I slap it through the gears. I’m driving it a bit too fast in the snow.

I’m in town now, having come in on eighteenth avenue and cut across in front of John Adams to 12th ave. It’s a short cut to Elton Hills drive where I’ll be able to go fast and zip over to Nancy’s near Viking Park.

But the plow has yet to get to 12th ave. so it’s a bit extra icy. Fine… I like driving on ice anyway. I like pulling shitty’s and I’m pretty good at it too. In “Driver’s Ed” last winter, it was so fun taking all those school-owned cars out onto the frozen lake… “Lake Scumbrow” and spinning around all over the place.

As I go down the hill approaching the intersection with Cascade street, I’m aware of the way it rises in the middle of the intersection. Like a jump ramp. It’s fun to go over in summer and I nearly got some air more than once. But in winter it’s quite tricky and I usually take it easy.

But in my hurry, I hit the jump too fast.

The little Toyota pickup truck goes into a fishtail right away. I’m too distracted by my thoughts to catch it quickly enough and I go out of control. Sliding completely sideways on the empty street, I’m almost able to think I’ll get out of this without hitting anything but then…

Bang!

Part of the rear bumper that extends out a bit from the side, catches on something and I spin around in a complete 360% loop the other way. I end up at a dead stop, still facing the direction I want to go so…

I look around to see if anyone saw me. Nope, not that I can see. I also can’t see how much damage I did to the parked car I’d just hit. I don’t even see which one it was and I make the quick decision that I’m not about to look around for it now.

So I get out of there fast and go on my way.

Nancy of course doesn’t notice the completely bent down left side of the Toyota’s rear bumper and I spend that entire after school event planning thing, planning what to do next.

About Dad’s truck.

Several hours later… once I get Nancy home, I have a plan.

Heading home up the long, steep hill on the rural part of eighteenth avenue (the part that eventually goes right by our place on Steiger road) I see the perfect spot. Just before the hill levels out near Chippewa Drive, an icy patch is causing cars to spin out. I can see the tracks of at least two cars that did just that and decide right then to add mine on purpose.

I throw the little pickup into a spin. It’s a bit awkward as it’s obviously forced but still… it gets the job done and I end up facing backwards on the road with the already bent rear bumper touching the guard rail in just the right spot. As long as he doesn’t look too closely, Dad should buy it.

And he does!

As soon as Dad get’s home I show him the bumper and explain where it happened and… that’s it the end of it. Whew!

Best lie I ever made.