September 1958
It was a Sunday afternoon in late spring. The scene: New York's Hutchinson River Parkway. The two checkered cap collegiates in the top-down TD ahead didn't see us coming. Cruising up at 45 mph in fourth, we silently changed down to third and then to second. Alongside by then, we dropped into synchromesh low, double-clutching purely for effect. Blasting once on the Marchal Stridor air horn, we fled the scene at full throttle, rending the air with not-so-quiet thunder and leaving a faint trace of abused rubber on the concrete.
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