Thursday, November 19, 2009

Vacation, Day 2, 10/22/2009, Part 3

We made it to Mississippi! Hooray! To tell you the truth, neither one of us ever expected to get back home again, so this is just so special, so sweet. We knew we were in for some fun, for days and days and days! It all started with Kay and Milton, out in the country at their house. They had plans for us, let me tell you.

First thing after we got the suitcases inside the house, Milton got the keys to Kay's 1980 Corvette and said, "Come on, Lynette. I'm taking you for a ride."

Here's the Corvette in the carport, speed sitting still.
When Milton started it up, the rest of us, including their grandson Ian and their rescued, cutie-pie, little dog Tinkerbell, were on the carport, sitting there visiting. Did Mama ever squeal and jump in her seat! I stood there in awe, reveling in the power, the deep rumble, the potential.

Milton goosed it a time or two before pulling out onto the driveway. Mama jumped again, giggling. I grinned.

Milton got out, took both T-tops (or whatever you call them) out of roof of the car, helped me get way down into the seat, made sure I was belted in. Milton got in, started the engine. Whoa! What a sound! I'm thinking, "Anticipation!" He hooked up an iPod to the dash and the car's sound system. Holding the iPod in his left hand, steering with his right, Milton said, "Now, I don't know for sure what's on here, Lynette. My grandson and my son-in-law loaded it, so it's all kinds of stuff." He drove us down their driveway and turned left, out onto the country road, where he stepped on the gas, and I felt myself pushed back into the seat--whoopee! I wondered at how NASCAR drivers must feel so much more force when going nearly 200 mph. For an inkling, I realized how addictive speed can be.

I took this photo of Tinkerbell before I got into the Corvette. She's wishing she could go along for the ride, but settled for telling us good-bye at the edge of the carport.

To tell you the truth, I don't remember what we listened to on that fine sound system, but I do know that we could hear every bit of it even with the air rushing by--Milton just pumped up the volume! We could've been the music source for one fine lawn party, if Milton had decided to stop somewhere.

The Corvette responded quickly to Milton's foot on the gas pedal, barreling down this road and that road. I don't know for sure where we went because I didn't know for sure where we were in the first place. I mean, in general I knew we were west of I-55 near McComb. I do know that I had an ever-lovin' blast! At one point I asked him, "How fast are we going?" He replied, "Only 65." "We sure did get there fast," I said. Milton laughed and laughed while I grinned at him. (Later on we sped up to 85, Milton told me after we were back home.) We zoomed past fenced fields, houses with porches, a country store and gas station, at least one church, a post office, groves of pines and leafless hardwoods beneath a battleship gray sky.

I took this photo looking straight up out of the swiftly moving Corvette. I wondered at their speed and skill, how it matched with the car's and Milton's.

After a few more miles flew by, I asked over the roar of the wind and the radio, "Is this a muscle car, Milton?" He said no and went on to explain the difference which I can't quite remember except that I think he mentioned 442's and GTO's and MOPAR. Little did I know that I'd hatched an idea in his head with that short little question.

Pretty soon Milton slowed down, made a sharp right turn and headed up a slight incline, then turned left into a curving lane lined with mostly tall pines, some young hardwoods, with two dirt tracks separated by a grassy strip, pine needles strewn here and there. "I'm taking you somewhere where you can take all the pictures you want to take, Lynette," he explained.

Soon the track turned to all grass that ended at an obviously new garage-sized out-building, situated beside a smaller, older one. Milton blew and blew the horn as we both looked toward the open, regular-sized door on the left front of the building. A man walked out and good ol'boy hellos ensued. We were at Milton's train engineer's home. "I brought her out here," Milton explained, "after she asked me if the Corvette was a muscle car." Turns out he's a muscle car man! Come back tomorrow to see what I mean--you won't be disappointed.

Milton parked the Corvette, and naturally I couldn't resist one more photo of the first Corvette I've had the pleasure of sitting in, much less speeding around the countryside.

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