CHAPTER FIVE - Fantasies
By George J. Kimble
Out on that West Texas
plain
A couple dozen miles out
of Loraine
I had the Vette in
cruise
Rolling like plain folks
do
Late at night and
growing weary
With patches of mist the
desert is scary
No traffic out there to
break the monotony
All alone and dreamy
thoughts coming to me
When, there in the
mirror
Something in the mist,
was getting clearer
It was closing in
fast
I was glad to have some
company at last
It was a big Caddy
Eldo
Flying wide and flying
low
I thought, OK, you are
the hare
I am the hound, as long
as I dare
Figured if the man had
tickets to write
I’d just keep that Eldo
barely in sight
It wasn’t my plan to go
to jail!
I’ll keep some distant
as I trail
Roads in West Texas are
straight and flat
Nothing but sagebrush
and things like that
The Caddy was slipping
out of view
I kept bumping up the
cruise
Miles came and miles
went
Caddy was booking, like
a tenant that can’t pay the rent
Faster and faster hour
after hour
They build those Caddies
with plenty of power
I guessed out here,
there ain’t no speed trap
And decided to close the
gap
Took it out of cruise
and grabbed fifth
Rounded a little curve
in a four wheel drift
Pegged it and saw the
back of the drivers head
Closed in, like the
reaper on the dead
I pulled along side, the
mist was a swirl
The Eldo was driven by a
girl
I asked the Vette for
just a little bit more
As I got even to her
door
I could see her smile as
she laid the hammer down
This was a hare that
liked to tease the hound
Caddy and Vette neck to
neck
Two-lane highway, what
the heck
Off in the distance, a
semi truck
How far could we push
the luck?
Like two cats on an alley fence
Things were getting sort
of tense
Was this a mistake?
Should I tap my
brake?
Head lights getting too
near
This rabbit had no
apparent fear
High beams start to
flash
I brake, let it pass
Next instant that lady
is gone
Sky is lighted in the
dawn
No Eldo, no tail
lights
Strange things happen in
the desert at night
I pull into a filling
station
Get a cup of coffee, try
to stop shaking
I tell my story to the
locals there
They laugh, “I’m not the first hound to chase the phantom
hare”
By George J. Kimble
I was pushing across the bayou country of Louisiana
Tip toe crushing the gas pedal like a banana
My long hair tied back in a bright blue bandanna
The old Corvette Sting Ray is hauling me to see my sweet Rosy Anna
I must have been doing a shade over One Hundred and Ten
I was crossing one of those long wooden bridges with alligators under them
I
hadn’t seen a place to pull over since I don’t know when
All of a sudden cutting through the swamp vapors I heard a siren
Wherever that Parish Constable was hid, I’ll never know
He was whipping that old four door Pontiac as fast as it would go
His siren wailing, headlights blinking, and bubble gum machine all a glow
For a moment, I contemplated hammering it just to see that poncho blow
But instead, I just slowed down
And started looking to pull over onto some solid ground
And finally spotted a sandy mound
I can still hear that eerie siren sound
The sunglassed stereotypical constable stopped and jumped out
He didn’t have a PA system and just began to shout
“Put your hands up and get your butt out”
He had his pistol drawn and he meant business I had no doubt
He said, “Put both hands on the trunk of the car”
On his chest was pinned a brightly polished star
He grabbed one hand then the other and cuffed them really hard
That angered me, but I knew better than to hassle that tub of lard
He
was huffing and puffing and sweat formed on his brow
He spoke in a “Cajun” accent in a guttural growl
He yammered, “You gonna see the Judge now”
Then he dragged me back to that Pontiac scow
He turned the cruiser around in a blur
I asked, “What about my Corvette sir?”
He just acted as if he couldn’t hear
And then asked if I’d been drinking beer
We pulled into a town built along a railroad track
There was a brick building surrounded by a lot of shacks
My hands were sore, cuffed behind my back
Moreover, this fine officer wasn’t going cut me no slack
The judge appeared blind in one eye and couldn’t see from the other
He was the spitting image of the cop, they must be brothers
I started saying my prayers to the holy mother
When I saw them whispering one to another
For my indiscretion of speed, I would have to pay a price
Since I was sober, the judge would be nice
But, 110 meant the penalty would be compounded twice
The debt that now must be paid
Was sixty days of labor in these everglades
Clearing brush from the roadside with a machete blade
Every day has been at least 110 in the shade
I was treated worse than a new army recruit
I did my time in a stripped suit
I was warned the guard would shoot
And had blood hounds in case of pursuit
They turned me loose after many appeals
And, when I asked about my wheels
They chuckled and laughed with little squeals
The giggled they had sold it to pay for my meals
Every one knows swamps are filled with scary creatures
We have seen them in late night movie features
But, I was never informed by my teachers
Nor enlightened in church by my preachers
About the predators who cast a net
Who upon a traveler are beset
That I encountered with regret
That devoured two months and my Red Corvette
By George J. Kimble
The heat, the dust
The course east across the desert crust
The miragic shimmer on the endless blacktop
The Corvette seats sticking to the back of my shirt top
I pushed on speeding with no remorse
I was on a mission, a survivor of divorce
She got the house, the mini van, and personal checks
But, she was not going to get, my old Corvette
The fuel gauge was sinking ominously low
The engine was hot and I feared it would blow
When I spotted the station, it seemed another mirage
But, soon I could read the rusty sign, “Desert Lodge”
We’ve all seen these arcane sites
Oasis overcome by years of blight
A dinner and hotel in combination
Just to the rear of the filling station
I pull in and create an awesome dust cloud
The sweat and dust make mud on my brow
As I stand, my head is all a whorl
The heat is stifling, I almost hurl
A three toothed old man in a dingy T-shirt
Walks up and ask, “ Stranger are you hurt”
“You look kind of ill”
“You had better just stand still”
I reply, that I am all right
But, that Sun seems excessively bright
He says, “Stranger you need a rest”
“I’ll fill your tank with high test”
He moves in slow motion to start that chore
I stagger and stumble to the dinner door
Struggling, in the darkened dinner, to focus my eyes
I can smell the aroma of fresh baked pies
I plunk my butt on a red covered stool
There’s a over head fan blowing some cool
To my right, there’s a box of ICE COLD POP
On another stool sits the local cop
He looks at me then out the window
He says, “That your Vette? How fast will it go?”
It’s hard to talk when your mouth is so dry
But, I manage to mumble that it will fly
A beautiful woman, on the counter, sets some water
I grab it and guzzle, thinking she must be the owner’s daughter
The cop lays down some change as he leaves
The swinging door kicks up a little breeze
The old man comes in and says,” Your Vette is filled up son”
The woman says, ”I love Corvettes, but, No one around here ever had one”
Her voice is light and extremely soothing
Very melodic, in her south western drawing
The
old man says, “I don’t mean to be rude”
“But, I get paid for the gas, before you get your food”
Forty two fifty is his exorbitant price
I realize, it won’t do any good to gripe
I tell the beauty I’m ready to eat
And ask, what goes good with all this heat?
She smiles and prepares a cold cuts platter
I can’t help myself; I just keep staring at her
She says, “The deserts days are awfully hot”
But, “ The nights really are not”
I eat the food very slow
Something is making me not want to go
We converse just to be polite
I ask her, how much it cost to spend the night?
She tells me and adds, she was once a bride
Unfortunately her young husband died
Casually she says, “If you stay the night,
You could take me for a ride, it would be a delight”
I almost choked on a chunk of meat
Then I realized she meant on the Corvette seat
I stayed and we took that Corvette ride
I’m ashamed; that I was glad her husband had died
I never thought to stay in the desert
And, I did buy “Pops” a new T-shirt
If it weren’t for that Corvette
I wouldn’t be so happy, you can bet
Stranger things could happen in life
But, I am glad I made that beauty my wife
By George J. Kimble
Five Point Oh and my LT One
Mustang bumpin’ bass like a gun
On a dark street side by side
Vette’s already, gonna ride
Three hundred horses chompin’ at the bit
Pony and Bow Tie just won’t quit
Engines strainin’ in the night
Hold the clutch wait for the light
Street Racer, Crazy Greaser
Call me what ya like
Sounds bumpin’, tires jumpin’
Lets go racin’ tonight
Smoke and nitro in the air
Money bet on a dare
Street racin’ it ain’t legal
Win the money, soar like an eagle
Dump the clutch, grab that gear
This is the time to have no fear
Street lights flashing, look like dots
Oh my God I think it’s the cops
Street Racer, Crazy Greaser
Call me what ya like
Sounds bumpin’, tires jumpin’
Let’s go racin’ tonight
Winnin’s spent to go on bail
Ol’ man found out. Kicked my tail
No new tires for my Vette
Gotta find a Mustang, make a bet
Turbo’s screamin’, sounds real bad
That Saleen Mustang can be had
All them Ponys wanna try,
But this LT One can really fly.
Street Racer, Crazy Greaser
Call me what ya like
Sounds bumpin’, tires jumpin’
Let’s go racin’ tonight
Next time you’re out late at night
Check the machines at the light
Every night again and again
On the streets, it’s what’s happenin’
Street racin’ may be a crime
Put up your money , bet a dime
Dudes and dudettes hear my cry
I’ll be runnin this Vette ‘till I die
Street Racer, Crazy Greaser
Call me what ya like
Sounds bumpin’, tires jumpin’
Let’s go racin’ tonight
By George J. Kimble
He has grease under his fingernails
Levi's
under his shirttails
He's got a creeper in his garage
He's working on a motor, rather large
He leans over low and sleek
And gives the ignition another tweak
The Vette wears primer and knock off wheels
To him it's not how it looks, but how it feels
His ideal ain't no beauty show
His ambition is grab it and go
He'll labor there for hours
Then onto the street, in lust for power
Crusin' past the drive-in
Local cops all think it's a sin
Socialabilty test? Probably failed.
Cops want to put him in jail
Mustang at the next red light
Those Pony drivers think they own the night
Mustang drivers never run for much
Most will only bet ten bucks
Viper slips out of its lodge
Boy is that a steamin' Dodge
V-10 power and manual clutch
Would that challenge the Vette too much?
With a gesture from the hand
Viper pulls up to make a stand
The driver is smiling proud
Low side pipes growling loud
A short moment to set the prize
A long look into each other's eyes
Back at home mechanical parts
On the street a racer's heart
On the light his mind does rest
He's confident the Vette will stand the test
Rpm’s rising high
Dump the clutch; let it fly
He didn't build the Vette for turnin' corners
He's got it lit on all eight burners
Tires squat under torque
Grab a gear, feel the engine work
Eighth mile whizzes by
Vette is trailing by a wink of an eye
Viper needs to shift a gear
Vette grabs third, squall is all you hear
Quarter mile was just a flash
Shut it down, collect the cash
Get back home and check it out
Get it ready for tomorrow’s bout
On the streets there's no checkered flag
On the street there's no time to brag
When he wins he feels real giddy
For his adversaries he has no pity
He may not be the local hero
But he knows he fastest starting from zero
If you think you can beat him
Come on out any night and meet him
Always waiting for another bet
Another challenge for his Vette
He'll be crusin' past your park
Primer Gray after dark
By George J. Kimble
He was a skinny looking kid
He couldn’t do athletics like the others did
He always had sand kicked into his face
To his sisters he was a big disgrace
His shirt had pen marks over the pocket
His beady eyes were sunk deep within their sockets
He was comfortable with algebra books and beakers
Corduroy pants and black high topped sneakers
When he was sixteen he learned how to drive
He had saved all his money since he was age five
He set out alone to find himself some wheels
None of the tote the note lots would cut him a deal
While walking home, he spied a poster
FOR SALE, Chevrolet, by original owner
Exterior red, Interior black
Tires good, Paint inferior
The hand written sign seemed a little strange
He wrote down the number, it was a local exchange
In his house, he picked up the phone
It rang and rang as if no one was home
After several tries he heard, “Hello”
The voice of an old woman, soft and mellow
He quickly mentioned the hand lettered sign
Asked her address, she said, ”South Main corner of Pine”
He asked many other questions, but received few replies
“Yes, It was old” a sixty something she surmised
“It had been setting so long it’s battery was probably not alive”
“If he had an interest he should take it for a drive”
He begged his big sister to carry him there
She said, “Okay”, as soon as she finished doing her hair
On the way, he bought new cables in a box
He went to the door and gave a great knock
He noticed a barn out in back
Then the door opened just a small crack
He heard that small voice coming from within
It said, “Go around back”, where she would meet him
At the barn door, he gave his mightiest tug
With a second try, it finally budged
There were cobwebs and a great deal of clutter
In a finger of sunlight, he saw a figure under a cover
Coughing from dust in a cloud
Slowly he peeled back the shroud
With a terrible shiver, all up his spine
He beheld an Icon frozen in time
Her asking price was incredibly small
Since it was a Chevrolet Corvette side pipes and all
Since his good fortune and spectacular find
He has remained frail, gentle, and kind
Now no one insults him and calls him an elf
He is simply referred to as:
MR. BIG BLOCK
THE SOLID LIFTER HIMSELF
By George J. Kimble
Ol’ Billy was a proud man
He always polished his car
He’d buff and wax ‘till every damn part was shinning like a mid-night star
The girl’s name was Lucy
She really knew how to drive
She could grab those gears and could out shift any darn man alive
Now, Billy had an urgency
He liked to drive too fast
He had a big right foot and you know he kept it on the gas
One night Billy was out driving
He
was trying to make a bet
That’s when he was humiliated, by Lucy in her red Corvette
He had a bad bad seven-liter Ford
The baddest machine in precinct or ward
Meanest car of it’s kind
Faster than a bum, jumpin’ on a dime
Now the two cars took to racin’
Rubbin’ fenders and Bumpin’ doors
Billy’s foot slipped off the clutch and his tranny came through the floor
Lucy was a nice girl
She hated to see a grown man cry
She told him to go fix that Ford, and she’d give him another try
You Know Billy wasn’t stupid
Some even called him wise
When he came back, that Ford, would be highly customized
Now, the time was a little later
Maybe, about a month or so
And Billy was begging Lucy, to have another go
He had a bad bad seven-liter Ford
Baddest machine in precinct or ward
Meanest car of it’s kind
Faster than a bum, jumpin’ on a dime
This time things were different
Billy made no goofs
He out ran ol’ Lucy, and I swear I’m telling the truth
Lucy didn’t fall for that
But she was quite dismayed
She demanded to peek under his hood, before she would ever pay
Ol’ Billy got very irritated
And that was her first clue
The big block was Chevy orange and not Ford dark blue
Lucy condemned Ol' Billy
You should be doing time
Because, to put a Chevy mill, inside a Ford, has got to be a crime
Billy had to soon confess
He cheated to win their bet
And his four door Ford was really an over sized Corvette
He had a bad bad Chevy powered Ford
Most modified machine in precinct or ward
Strangest car, one of a kind
Faster than a bum jumpin’ on a dime
By George J. Kimble
Oh, How great a world it would be
For
an old Corvetter just like me
To have a place on the open Highway,
To have that Super Slab my way
A road devoid of Mini vans
Cell phone users driving with both hands
No
Semi’s drearily lugging up hill
Winabagoes corralled in parking lots still
A place, where ol’ beater isn’t driven by a drunk
No road kills, not even a dead skunk
All truck tires remaining on their rim
My hot coffee never spilling over the brim
No kamikaze bugs or fresh hot tar
Glistening
paint and fresh tires on my car
Ticket givers asleep on the roadside
My best friend just along for the ride
Left lane loafers quickly pull to the right
No double bottom trailers are anywhere in sight
Every traffic light is permanently green
Gas station restrooms are immaculately clean
No glare of Sun beams into my eye
No insect in my cabin nor buzzing fly
At night, on coming lights are kindly muted
No horns blown or angrily tooted
Potholes have all been eliminated
Every off ramp is well illuminated
Easily seen directional signs
Traffic congestion is only behind
Road construction done only at night
No litter, trash, nor roadside blight
Speed limits are completely removed
Corvette tires sticking like they are glued
Other’s lane changes are always signaled
Once over, their flasher, is promptly canceled
Sunday drivers all stayed at home
Open highway for my Corvette to roam
With such a place, I know, no one is blessed
These crazy notions, I should arrest
My brain surgery, they say went well
And soon, they
will release me from this padded cell
By George J. Kimble
She sees the man on the darkened street
The motor pulse matches her heart beat
He sees her and starts to grin
She likes the set of his squared chin
Confident and bright, their eyes meet
She motions him into the Corvette’s seat
The engine growls low and deep
From the curb she starts to creep
He detects the scent of gas and nitrous
He thinks to himself “ this vette could be serious”
He smiles and ask “How fast will it go ?”
She laughs and lies, “I really don’t know.”
Onto the street with a jerk of the wheel
She grabs second ,the tires squeal
Deep down inside she loves the throb
The corvette motor transmits to the shifter knob
He looks over to check on the tach
She hits third and the seat slaps his back
Around the bend and up the hill
Miles per hour climbing still
In fourth gear the corvette engine roars
Like an airplane as it soars
Flying low across deserted land
She drives the vette with the caress of her hand
Star light and Moon beams dance on the hood
The wind in her hair feels so good
He shouts “Girl you sure can drive!”
The corvette makes her feel completly alive.
Reveling in a sense of power
They roll on hour after hour
Nerves and sinew and intense emotion
Perspiring brows , a beast in motion
She wets her lips and it evaporates
Over the hills they undulate
Abandoned thoughts and freedom’s flight
Drinking up the essence of the night
A beautiful woman and a Corvette screaming
Lust of speed at Corvette’s full song
She does not stop ‘till the crack of dawn
Winding down to the very last exit
A cup of coffee and another cigarette
With a sharp glance like cold blue steel
She is gone. Was she real?
