Epic Story Winner - Police
Police
This is the story of my first high speed pursuit. A little back ground. I was a young fella 21 years old in a very small boring town of 1500ish (I referred to it as my hamster wheel as I would just go in circles)
Earlier in the week a State Troopers patrol car was broken into and a full battle rattle m4 was stolen.
This midnight as I’m driving around in my unmarked 2000 Impala with the cool “surveillance” mode button.
I pull into a local tractor dealer checking for your local redneck meth head battery thief, I’m just pulling back into the road. A white Gran Prix gpx passes in front of me. I pull out to go back to the PD to have some coffee and this Grand Prix immediately turns onto a backroad. I turn behind him for no other reason than it’s 230am. The GrandPrix then accelerates to Mach 2 toward the most steep, roughest set of rail road crossings this side of the Mississippi.
I. Follow. Suit.
Thinking it’s one of my buddies or family screwing with me. As I watch this white land yacht take flight like the Wright Brothers I realize this is real. I say screw it for my own bit of Michael Jordan hang time. We land in a shower of sparks crushing everything called undercarriage.
A short chase leads to speeds of 100+ down the highway through town and a dispatcher who crapped his pants from being awoken by a confused “I think I’m in pursuit”
Once the chase ends, guy bails on foot. Leaving his driver’s license by his open car door since he was just carded for a pack of smokes prior to our Daytona 500. A subsequent boot in the front door of his house out in the sticks yields the holy grails of M4.
This is the story of why I never got to drive the Hemi Charger.
This is the story of my first high speed pursuit. A little back ground. I was a young fella 21 years old in a very small boring town of 1500ish (I referred to it as my hamster wheel as I would just go in circles)
Earlier in the week a State Troopers patrol car was broken into and a full battle rattle m4 was stolen.
This midnight as I’m driving around in my unmarked 2000 Impala with the cool “surveillance” mode button.
I pull into a local tractor dealer checking for your local redneck meth head battery thief, I’m just pulling back into the road. A white Gran Prix gpx passes in front of me. I pull out to go back to the PD to have some coffee and this Grand Prix immediately turns onto a backroad. I turn behind him for no other reason than it’s 230am. The GrandPrix then accelerates to Mach 2 toward the most steep, roughest set of rail road crossings this side of the Mississippi.
I. Follow. Suit.
Thinking it’s one of my buddies or family screwing with me. As I watch this white land yacht take flight like the Wright Brothers I realize this is real. I say screw it for my own bit of Michael Jordan hang time. We land in a shower of sparks crushing everything called undercarriage.
A short chase leads to speeds of 100+ down the highway through town and a dispatcher who crapped his pants from being awoken by a confused “I think I’m in pursuit”
Once the chase ends, guy bails on foot. Leaving his driver’s license by his open car door since he was just carded for a pack of smokes prior to our Daytona 500. A subsequent boot in the front door of his house out in the sticks yields the holy grails of M4.
This is the story of why I never got to drive the Hemi Charger.