Having driven some 1,700 miles over the holidays, I'm more than familiar with the state known as "road hypnosis," the feeling of your brain shutting down due to the sheer boredom of places like rural Ohio. Which is why it took me several miles of driving to realize what was in front of me; a Holden Monaro VZ coupe, with the LS1 and some nice hood scoops. In our post about jackanapes filling handicapped parking spots, commenter Elhigh has this story about someone else who didn't recognize what kind of vehicle they had on their hands...or feet:
I had an uncle, a good guy who has since died. As a kid, he contracted polio, and as a result lost the use of his arms.
Years pass and Uncle gets older. His brothers decide, sixteen years old, you gotta have a car. They buy a Chrysler and mod it, Minnesota farmboy style, so he can drive with his feet. He was one of two people in the stae licensed to drive with his feet.
Big ol' steering wheel on the floor. I mean, huge. It's got knobs so he can grip it with his toes. I guess they got the Chrysler 'cause it had a big floorboard, never knew for sure.
Brakes on the right, gas on the left. Dunno why. I asked, nobody explained. Maybe Uncle was left-footed or something.
Anyway. Years pass, Uncle's at work. His car's parked out front in a non-handicapped spot. His feet work, he's got no trouble getting around. He leaves handicapped spots for people who really need them.
Until one day. Uncle's at his desk, when from out front comes this big VROOOOM!! and about fifteen seconds later somebody runs in yelling Uncle's car's been stolen.
"My car? My car?"
Sure enough. Cops found it about ten minutes later, two blocks away around the corner, badly parked.
Maybe swapping the gas and brake was a security feature. The other uncles are still around. I should ask.