Speeding

I like to drive really fast. It's sort of a shameful love of mine that I keep firmly under control. It is frowned upon, you see.
Yesterday, I drove fast.
My sweet friend, Kris (not KJP) was in the car with me. We were on this sledding comedy of errors which involved 5 cars, unfamiliar territory, and one family who wanted to get away from us. My assignment was to catch up with a car which had fled at a high rate of speed in the style of a California driver. A Driver who did not wish to be caught.
There was hardly any ice on the road, and the twisting mountain terrain was not that daunting, to an experienced Idaho driver.
I went fast.
Really fast.
Kris and her white knuckles wanted very much to catch up with car #1, but she wanted me to do so within the speed limit.
This was not possible.
I did catch up, though. While blarring Collective Soul. If one is going to break the speed limit, one should do so with the sounds of Collective Soul.
But the funny part began as we caught up to car #1.
Kris had something to say to him, and I don't think it had occurred to her that he might not want to hear it. I thought she was going to dive across my body to lay upon my horn. She didn't. Instead she forcefully insisted that I should flash my lights.
When Kris issues a command, people usually obey. I did. The driver ahead didn't.
Perhaps he didn't know what flashing lights from a speeding car are telling you.
So she began to rummage about in my vehicle looking for paper on which to write a message to display in my windshield. As if he might glance in his rear view mirror and say, "Oh, look, literature."
At this point I began offering helpful suggestions to rile her up. I offered to speed up, for instance. Or to pull alongside so that she might bang upon his tightly shut window. Or to flip a U-turn and go back after our friend who was going the other direction. She didn't appreciate my help.
In the end, we were unable to get his attention. We went sledding with three of the other cars in our party.
It was cold. And the speed from the sled was no rush at all compared with the thrill of chasing a California Driver!