Long before lassoing our first girlfriends and wives, Saturday nights were reserved for “the boys” and were always tough to fill. Oh sure, we could have gone to the movies or played miniature golf, but what would be the point of that? What kind of memories would we create by spending an entire evening at the Rivoli Theater or the Putt Putt miniature golf course? There would be plenty of time for that later when we were old and in our 30s.
With nothing to do and no money to do it, we typically congregated in the back of the parking lot shared by the Big Donut and the Pup ‘n Taco. Several of us used to work there while in high school, so the managers gave us a pass on loitering. We never bought anything (knowing what actually went into the food) and usually arrived with no plans for the evening. But, back in the 60s and 70s, that’s what kids did with their time: drive around until something happened.
On one particular summer evening, we started out with a liquor run to Stark Liquors. None of us was twenty-one yet, so we were limited to liquor stores that didn’t bother to check our IDs. Stark also had the largest selection of cheap wine in the San Fernando Valley, so off we went. After perusing a bin full of Boones Farm, Ripple, Thunderbird, and Arriba wine and all-purpose wallpaper remover, we finally settled on a gallon of Red Mountain Wine, split three ways, and went back to the Pup ‘n Taco.
Between the three of us, it didn’t take long to demolish a gallon of wine. But, when we did, we were ready for anything. Ted came up with a brilliant idea. “Hey, I know of a great road in the hills above Sherman Oaks. Let’s see how fast each of us can drive it.” Sounded like a good idea to me. After all, it was his car.
We headed south through the San Fernando Valley and drove to the precipice of Beverly Glen Drive, where it dropped off into a hoity-toity residential neighborhood of Sherman Oaks and the top of Camino de la Cumbre. If you’ve never driven the Camino, you’re in for a treat. Especially at night. It’s like San Francisco’s famed Lombard Street on steroids. It twists and turns through a densely populated residential area with an endless line of Mercedes, Ferraris, and BMWs on both sides of the street. Even on a good day, there’s barely room for a full-sized car to squeak through.
Tom said, “I have an idea,” while handing me several blank sheets of paper and a Magic Marker. “After every turn, let’s score 
Ted’s ability to make the curve. Sort of like the Olympic Games.” So, off we went.
Ted knew he wouldn’t score well if he just cruised to the bottom of the road. So, he revved up his engine, mashed the accelerator, and took off for the first turn. As his rear end fish-tailed out of control, Tom gave him a 3.0. I was more generous and gave him a 4.5 for execution, with a 2.75 for artistic interpretation. Keep in mind that Ted wasn’t driving a high-performance Porsche. After he got out of the Marines, he bought a 1965 Oldsmobile Cutlass convertible, that he customized with a wooden steering wheel, oversized tires, and rear-raked suspension.
With more than a dozen tight turns ahead of him, Ted still had plenty of time to redeem himself, so he floored the accelerator. The next turn was considerably better. Tom gave him a 5.5, while I was busy goading him into driving faster and taking more risks. As we swung around a tight right turn, barely missing a Maserati, the rear-end of the Oldsmobile broke loose. He was faced with one of two choices: swing to the left and plunge us all down a 200-foot ravine, or turn hard to the right and drive up the side of the hill. Fortunately, there was an empty parking space just downhill from a fire hydrant where we marginally squeaked through.
Up we went, fish-tailing, and mowing down waist-high grass, finally coming to rest at a 45-degree angle on the hill. But not without several consequences. During the course of the turn, the impact threw me out of the front passenger’s seat and into Ted’s lap. While I was leaving my seat, Tom was thrown toward the front, adding to the dog pile in the driver’s seat.
After we came to rest, we looked around and gave each other a quick once-over, making sure there wasn’t any blood or broken bones protruding from our shirts. Apparently, we’d dodged a bullet.
After Tom and I awarded our scores (7.6 from Tom and 4.5 from me), we decided not to tempt fate any further and called it a night. Ted dropped us off and we all headed home.
Ted was living with his parents at the time, in a two-bedroom apartment in Van Nuys. Miraculously, he finished the night by finding an empty parking space right in front of his building, pulled in, and headed upstairs for the night.
The next morning, there was a rap on his bedroom door. “Ted,” barked his father. “I need to use your car this morning. Where are the keys?” Ted pointed to the top of his dresser and rolled back over to sleep.
His father walked downstairs and found the Oldsmobile right where Ted left it, parked in front of the building. At first, he didn’t think much of the mud, damaged tail light, and scratches running down the entire left side of the car. Disappointed, he thought, I guess the Marines didn’t teach him how to take care of his possessions. He slid in behind the wheel and started the car.
After a few minutes, he put his foot on the brake, moved the drive selector on the steering column into reverse to gently ease out of the parking space. He swung his right arm over the back of the seat, looked over his shoulder, and gave it the gas. Instantly, the Oldsmobile lunged forward, plowing full speed ahead into the back end of the car in front of him. The car died with steam shooting out of the front of the grill.
Evidently, during the previous night’s action, the impact of my being thrown into Ted’s lap caused my knee to tweak the 
drive selector mounted on the steering column. What should have been “R” for reverse, was now “D” for drive. Thankfully, I wasn’t there for the rest of the discussion.
While we never returned to Camino de la Cumbre to see if Tom or I could beat Ted’s paltry 6.5, we still managed to come up with unique and interesting ways to fill our time. We invented our own set of rules for full-contact golf, “Wheatfields,” a new card game without any rules, and a Christmas costume party in the middle of July. That was at least, until we discovered women, recreational drugs and were introduced to the concept of having to make a living. But, none of them were half as much fun as blazing down Camino de la Cumbre in Ted’s Oldsmobile Cutlass convertible.
