I always have to tell this story when people talk about taking a driving test. After I graduated from college and moved to Ohio, and stupidly didn't apply for an Ohio license until I got stopped for something, the cops not pleased with my New Jersey license. So I had to take both the written and the driving test. The written was easy, but the driving was another matter because the only car I had was my '67 Pontiac LeManns which was radically built for the 1/4 mile drag strip.
The heads had been milled .025 of an inch, a crower cam with .5 inch lift, a 411 posi rear end, enhanced coil, mechanical distributor, jetted carb, etc and a very modified trans which came out of a Pontiac Grand Prix. And here's the interesting part: when you revved up to 7200 and shifted into 2nd, the car jumped and entire car length, tires squealing and the rear end housing pounding into the under carriage and rear seat, a thrilling experience for those sitting in the rear.
So this grumpy older guy with a clipboard gets into the passenger seat and does his thing, pull out, turn left on X street, etc. I fire up the mini GTO and it goes, "rhumpa, rhumpada, rhumpada, rhumpada and shaking like a quarter mile drag car. I of course pretend to check the mirror, use my turn signal, and slowly as I can, pull out. It of course lurches out, chirping the rear tires. He grimaces and makes a check on his clip board.
There are more turn right and turn left, signals used, and now I'm in a 35 mph zone, the speedometer saying something like 55. He looks at the speedometer and says, "Do you know what your speedometer says?"
And I say, "Oh that thing? It's off because I changed the rear end gear but not the speedometer gear," trying to nonchalantly pass this off. He's having none of it.
He says, "So how do you know how fast you're going?"
I say, "Oh, I've figured it out by looking at my tachometer," the tack being mounted to the steering column along with an oil pressure gauge, all chrome and looking semi street legal. He grumps and clears his throat as he checks another box on his clip board.
Then the unthinkable happens. We're getting close to the DMV, stopped at a traffic light, finally returning home but there is one more traffic light and he says, "Hurry up and make this light." Now, from a standing start I see that the next light is turning yellow and he's telling me to hurry it up and make it before it turns red, so of course, I stand on it, take it up to 7000 rpm and shift into second, the tires screeching and now the big Pontiac convertible, its top shaking, jumps an entire car length and the rear drive shaft and pumpkin hit underneath the rear seat.
He has a look of terror on his face and I realize, as I'm shifting into third and going very fast, that all is lost, so I go screaming into the DMV parking lot and he's yelling, parallel park. I was always very good at parallel parking as I used to do driving tricks when I was in high school, so I head to the cones slowing down to 40, then 30, hit the breaks, and in one fluid motion, back and swing the car, it going "rhumpida, rhumpida, and of course, overheating at this point, right between the cones, and inch from the curb.
Once stopped, he slams the door open, jumps out, throws the clipboard on the ground, jumps up and swears, "God dammit, you pass!"
As God is my witness, that is the honest story with no embellishments. So I think your driving test we be a breeze as long as you don't go in a full out race car.
