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In 1961 I was returning home from dropping my girlfriend off at the S.F. airport to return to her college. Coming back over hwy. 152 toward the San Joaquin Valley at about 1 AM, I was rocking along in her mother's '59 Lincoln Continental at about 100 mph. There were no other cars on the road. Eventually in the distance I could see a lone set of tail lights and started tapering off on the speed as I got closer. Sure enough it was a CHP going about 55 mph, so I passed him at between 55 & 60. He instantly lit up the lights, pulled me over & asked how fast I was traveling. I said maybe had gotten up to 70. He said, "Son I patrol this stretch and I know you were running close to 100." So he ended up citing me for 70. It might have been worse if he knew about the open bottle of whisky I had under the seat.
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Marv Evans
'69 911E
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