Jay Quinn's Poodle story brought back memories of our 66 MKIII Sprite.
My wife and I were taking a late night cruise, top down, through the
Santa Cruz mountains about 5 years ago. Jamison Creek Rd. near Big
Basin State Park rises steeply with lots of switchbacks, few homes, and
no street lights. It was overcast, as usual, with zero moonlight -
absolute blackness. On one of the tight turns we started hearing the
jingling of a dog collar approaching from the rear. I floored it in
second gear, but being on quite a grade, it was taking forever to gain
speed. By this time the jingling collar and the sound of massive paws
running at full speed was beside my door - no barking or growling, but
we could hear its' breathing, like, inches from my head. I'm looking
directly at where the sound was coming from, which was a little higher
than the top of the door, but couldn't see a thing. This started to
get a bit frightening (who knows?, it could'a been one of them mutant
killer Poodles! ;) You feel a bit vulnerable because there isn’t much
you can do. Finally, the Sprite got up enough speed (I buried the tach
by this time) and we slowly began pulling away. I drove like a madman
for about 5 minutes longer before we felt safe again. It’s probably
just coincidence that we’ve not been back to that road since. The
Sprite has been gone for 2 years, but the memories will stay forever.
Should a thread ever start about big Healys and Yosemite’s black bears,
I’ve got another story from the sixties when we stored food in the
trunk and a bear totally shredding the interior to get to it.
Don Daves <dondaves@ix.netcom.com>
Santa Cruz, CA.
65 Tiger (his)
64 1/2 Mustang conv. (hers)
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