We have a couple of 8-balls that occasionally do rubber burning doughnuts right in the intersection in front of my corner lot house (in a subdivision). Right where the bus stop is for the elementary and middle school kids.
I'd love to try and hit a gas tank with a good rifle (and I could), but I don't. After all, that's just more fun sporting behavior like burning doughnuts in a neighborhood, isn't it?
Ever since the Covid, police presence in my neighborhood is zero.
Now once in a blue moon when we get a few inches of snow/ice, the go carts, minibikes and snowmobiles come out at night and get rowdy out in that big intersection, and I have no problem with that at all. In fact, I'm jealous. But I don't do icy doughnuts on my Valks. A man's got to know his limitations.
What makes me laugh is that the hot rodders today (around here) are mostly driving Honda civics and other fart can 4-cylinder toy cars. The owners of true Detroit muscle are now all old men like me, and have grown a bit more thoughtful in their old age.
At 16, I got fired from my first W4 job as a pump jockey in a Mobil station for dropping the clutch on the 3/4 ton station truck, breaking the drive shaft and destroying the entire exhaust system. Only time I got fired in my whole life. But I earned it.
(Warming to the subject of my youth), I grew up on the island of Grosse Ile MI, within sight of Amherstburg Ontario, and we'd run over there in 12 and 14 foot aluminums with small outboards to buy good Canadian beer. We were all underage, but the shop owners didn't seem to care. We never checked in with customs either, because why would you?
Also, there was an old tradition in the Detroit area (on Memorial Day weekend) of running up to the Blue Water Bridge and crossing into Sarnia, Ontario, then up Lake Huron to the Pinery Provincial Park near Grand Bend and camping and partying (more good Canadian beer, and crummy Mexican weed) all weekend. Every kind of hot rod, motorcycle, and old jalopy made the trek every year. And every year, some of our crowd ran afoul of the Ontario Provincial Police (the OPP), who were the largest policeman I had ever seen (like they had a rule you couldn't join the force if you were under 6'6"). Those guys had no sense of humor, though you couldn't blame them with the rowdy foreign invasion every Spring.
The Pinery Provincial Park was a very spartan campground then, and the only bathing you could get was in Lake Huron, which in May was/is cold enough to give you a heart attack. Good times.
My jalopy one year was my 1962 Austin Healey Sprite. And I actually made it up and back home without breaking down.
