In the early 70s I was driving 60 Mercury Montclair with a 430 cubic inch engine. It was a well preserved “grandma” car I bought from a retired couple for $200. One night on a dark desolate highway rabbits were getting crunched sometimes flopping around the wheel-wells as I barreled along at 90 miles an hour. I was tired, it was dark, I was driving entirely too fast, but the adrenalin from the stimulation of the anticipated hits and near misses of the countless rabbits kept me from nodding off.

I kept this pace up until suddenly all the lights on the car went completely out.

So there I was, going 90 miles an hour in the pitch dark. I couldn’t even see the dashboard let alone anything outside. I held the steering wheel straight and braced myself while kicking at the floor mounted high-beam switch, all the while pulling the light switch in and out on the dashboard. I had slowed to about 45 mph when the low beams finally came on.

That was the first warning.

I continued at about 50 mph until my pulse settled down. I then tried the high beams. They worked. I picked up my speed to 60, then 70 and after a while I was again traveling upwards of 85 and 90 mph. I continued again at these speeds for about 10 minutes when, again, everything went black.

That was the second warning.

This was not a straight road it curved and was hilly. With all the running lights there was no challenge negotiating at those speeds, but in the total darkness, there was nothing to do but brace, hit the brakes, and hold it straight.

Obviously the high beam circuit was overloading. So I drove with only the low beams, and for a while, exercised some common sense and kept my speed down.

My better sense left me once again. So with only low beams I picked up speed to 85 miles an hour with a dramatically shortened view. This was crazy, and I knew it. The excitement however was keeping me from falling asleep, and the rabbits that I would normally see afar off were only in my view for a split second before they were crunched.

The third and final warning rang out, but this time is wasn’t a short circuit. It was a shout inside my head:

“THAT’S ENOUGH!”

I didn’t just slow down, jammed on the brakes, slowing to about 45 mph, and while my foot was still firm against the brake pedal, a herd of cows came into view. My foot bore down tighter on the brake and though I was only going 45 when I first saw them, I very nearly had to lock up the brakes to avoid hitting the last one clearing the highway! I was not alone!

The spirit possessing Montclair was no Christine.

Wayne Harropson

PS
Though repaired the shorting wire, I thank God for the warning circuit.