King's Corner: Ah-OOH-ga!
King's Corner column for the July 25, 2025 issue
When I was young I fell in love with a car. A 1930 Model A Ford Coupe with a rumble seat. In Southern California, the land of freeways, it barely kept up with anything. My family was supportive since I had only recently gotten my license, and they figured that driving an underpowered almost-antique was almost a safety precaution.
My friend Scott and I met some girls who lived more than an hour north, in Ventura. We arranged one Saturday to drive up there in the Model A. Pacific Coast Highway starts in Santa Monica, right where Route 66 either begins or ends, and hugs the coastline. Most of it is two or more lanes in each direction, with occasional traffic lights once every few miles. Young boys, an old car, and an extended drive. What could happen?
We stopped at a signal, in the slow lane, with one car behind us. In the mirror I watched a police car in the fast lane pull up next to the car behind me. Windows rolled down and they talked briefly. The car then backed up several lengths. The police car parallel parked where the other car had been and pulled up to our back bumper. We now had three cars in the slow lane, and none in the fast. We sat there for what seemed like forever. The light turned green, they lit me up, and we both pulled over.
“License and registration please” and I complied. “Is this your car?” and I replied, “Yes”.
“Is it hot-rodded or restored?” “Restoring it.”
“Is this the original engine?” “Yes”
“Can we see it?” he asked with a grin.
For the next twenty minutes we were all just boys, fascinated by a classic mechanical design. And we pressed the horn that gives that classic “Ah-OOH-ga!” sound. Eventually they got a call, so they wished us well and took off up the highway. We slowly resumed our journey.
Further up, stopped at a traffic light, the only other vehicle on the road was a 40-seater bus with no passengers who pulled up in the fast lane. The driver looked at me, moved his gearshift, and out of the back of the bus we heard a low “roar, roar, roar” of his engine revving. So I put mine in neutral, pressed the accelerator, and a tame “putt, putt, PUTT, putt” sound came out my tailpipe. We each locked into gear, the light turned green, and the race was on. Scott and I reached the next red light very slightly ahead of him.
Once again his deep grumble challenged my “putt putt” and as he pulled ahead I began to catch up. The bus reached the next red light just moments ahead of me. The driver looked at me and revved, and we were ready for a decider round.
I was focused on the signal, but Scott pulled my arm urgently, pointed out the passenger side and half shouted “Look!” In the lane that formed the shoulder, pulled up next to us, was the police car. The driver was staring straight ahead, ignoring me. The passenger cop was looking straight at me, pumping his fist and mouthing, “Go! Go! Go!” The signal turned green and all three vehicles were off.
We managed to edge out the bus by almost a car length. I’m sure he saw the police car before it turned off. Scott said they were grinning. And at the next signal the bus also turned, waving good-bye with a smile as we responded with “Ah-OOH-ga!”.
Do you have stories or adventures from your youth that are fond memories? Ones you can revisit with a smile and not too much embarrassment? Where you were discovering how to press the limits without quite crossing the line? How to make new friends in unusual ways?
I had to sell that car later, when going to college meant long freeway commutes that needed something faster and reliable. Don’t we all have times when the practical needs of now require sacrifices? I then changed continents several times, living in Australia – where they don’t even drive on the same side of the road – and China. Hold onto the memories while you build your future.
Those were all very distant thoughts and stories when I was driving my dad, Mark King, home one day not that long ago from Carson City. We saw a parked Model A, and I pulled over for a look. It stirred up a few recollections.
Do you have times when a part of you, almost long forgotten, bubbles back to the surface? When who you were, and the dreams and delights you had, seem like distant images of someone you once knew as yourself? We all have parts that are deeply held onto, like building blocks upon which we stack more and more experiences until they became the hidden foundations of our values and dreams. You’re almost afraid to disturb them, as they feel almost out of reach until one day they tease you by emerging again.
My father, Mark, talked to his friend Tom, who knew someone about to part with a Model A. I went to look at it, we pressed the horn, and “Ah-OOH-ga!” resonated once again. That’s now my project.
Your heavenly father will also bring you surprises that touch and tease-out your oft-forgotten dreams. The more open you are with him, the more he can surprise, fulfil and delight you. Just ask, and trust.
What’s your “Ah-OOH-ga!” button?
