101 Things #90 - Speed Limits

My anti-bucket-list compendium, 101 Things I Refuse To Do Before I Die, is coming along nicely. I must admit that I have already taken pot-shots at most of the easy and obvious targets and increasingly I am drawn to seek out somewhat more obscure aspirations to drown in well-judged vitriol. But it wasn't too hard to admit

Peg the speedometer

to the list. It was found on the website of Esquire.com and is a new one to me.

I presume that by "pegging" the lads (and they are bound to be lads, are they not?) at Esquire mean driving a motor vehicle at maximum speed so as to make the analogue speedometer needle go all the way round and stop because it can move no further. My car has a digital speed reading as well which displays in large characters in the centre of the dashboard so I rarely need to look at the old-fashioned speedo but I take the point. What fun it would certainly be to floor the throttle and watch the rev counter move into the red zone as my car moves to its maximum speed, whatever that may be. Except that this is what would happen next ...

"Excuse me, sir, I couldn't help noticing that you were driving at close to twice the speed limit for this stretch of motorway. Would your name be Lewis Hamilton by any chance? Was it an emergency? Your cat up a tree or something? Have to rush home for your little girl's birthday party?"
"Well, officer ..."
 "Just step out the car, sir. I'm afraid you'll be missing that party. You'll be spending tonight in a nice little cell".

 I can just the hear the dripping sarcasm in the traffic cop's voice as his colleague fetches the breathalyser and checks the tyres for illegal treads. No, racing up the M1 is not going to be worth it. Where then to do this pegging business without breaking a number of rather important traffic laws?

Perhaps one could hire a deserted airstrip and blast up and down the old concrete runways for a while. There will be no other vehicles around (good) but equally bad because without gaping-mouth witnesses - "Blimey, he's in a bit of hurry, didn't know that Skoda could go so fast" - there seems little point in the attainment of some improbable speed. Maybe one could hire a little stand, like they bring in for fetes and horse shows, and one's family and friends could make themselves comfortable watching you. Somehow this seems all wrong. I'm sure that spontaneity is the key here and cold-bloodedly planning this event, together with light refreshments and taking Great-Aunt Catherine, (yes, her again), back to Kensington afterwards, kills that one stone-dead.

In any case, what would going at top speed do to my precious auto mobile? One is not supposed to drive with the revs into the red. It probably invalidates the warranty, even if the the crankshaft doesn't smash through the tappets, split the upper cylinder grommets and do nasty things to the timing chain in the process.

Esquire justify this activity thus:

You only have to do it once to tell people you crave speed. You may only have to do it once to realize that it scares you shitless. Either way, flooring it is one part of learning what a car ought to be. 

 I disagree. What a car ought to be is a safe and convenient means of transport. Racing cars are designed to go very fast, ordinary cars are not. Nor do I feel the slightest need to crave speed or to tell anyone that I do. It would not scare me shitless because in my reckless youth I did once drive a car extremely fast on a motorway¹; what subsequently scared me was the realisation that I could easily have lost my licence as a result. The speedometer will remain unpegged on my car and if this bucket-list item appeals to you, please go and do it in Germany where you can race as much as you want and they can't touch you for it.

Footnote:
1. Corolla 1.6 Gti, if you must know, the fastest hot hatch of its time (mid 1980s). On the M25 in North London.