News Item: In the late '50s and early '60s Volvo's PV-444 and its successor the PV-544 dominated European road rallies.

In the summer of 1965, my red Volvo PV-544 attained the ripe old age of one. I had received it as a present for graduating from California State University at Los Angeles the year before. I loved to drive the car hard and fast on mountain roads, and had participated in many road rallies and slaloms in the Los Angeles area. The car seemed to thrive on such treatment; "Drive it like you hate it," the advertisements of the day said.

Friday afternoon, I arrived home and started making preparations to travel to Willow Springs Raceway near Palmdale/Lancaster in the Mojave Desert. A series of sports car races, sponsored by the Sports Car Club of America, started Saturday morning and I was scheduled to work the flags at turn 6.

I decided to leave about midnight. Since I had packed my Volvo early that afternoon, I had only to grab my Australian slouch hat, leather jacket, and head down to the apartments' carport.

I headed north on Rosemead Boulevard, crossing Sierra Madre Boulevard and headed toward Pasadena. At the inevitable red lights, I would tap the steering wheel nervously and long for the freedom of the two-lane blacktop. The surface streets were nearly deserted, and the lights seemed an unnecessary hindrance. Colorado Boulevard took me through downtown Pasadena to the Arroyo Seco Parkway leading to the beginnings of the Foothill Freeway (freeways had names in those days). A short distance past the end of this short section lay the entrance to the "Crest."

The Angeles Crest Highway wound through the Angeles National Forest connecting the L.A. Basin with the resort town of Rightwood. About ten miles from the start, the Highway turns east towards the vacation spot and County Route E-3 continues north towards the high desert. Even though only the first few miles were actually on the Crest Highway, locals called the whole route from La Canada to the desert the "Crest." Would-be sports car racers loved this section of road because of its three curvy sections connected by two almost straight pieces.

The road was not unfamiliar to me, as for the last year I had driven it almost weekly and certainly not less than once a month. I had driven it in a PV-444 for several years, although not as frequently. I knew that the curves could be taken at twice the posted speed limit, e.g.: 15MPH sign meant 30MPH on the speedometer. This time I decided to take it easy and not push, and started up the mountain.

Soon after I passed through the last of the residential sections in the foothills, I saw a pair of headlights in my rear view mirror. The driver started to tailgate, and I could see by the shape of the grill that it was a '65 Pontiac GTO -- one of the favored muscle cars of the day, with lots of power but no suspension to speak of. He flashed his headlights for me to pull over and let him pass. Adrenaline caused the hair on my neck to rise as I thought, "Playtime."

"Pass me if you can," I said to myself as I slipped the Volvo into third and entered the first set of curves. I could see his lights start to rock up and down as his soft suspension compressed as he tried to keep up. Trees on both side of the road became indistinct shapes. A smile crept onto my face as the GTO started to fall back, and soon his lights were no longer visible. "All that power and nowhere to use it," I thought.

I realized that I could not let down or he would overtake me on the first relatively straight section. As the curves started to straighten, I slid into fourth gear and pressed the accelerator. About halfway to the next curve, his lights appeared in my mirror. As he started gaining on me, I reached over and caressed the Volvo's dashboard. "Good girl, you can do it," I muttered. He was still fifty yards behind me as I entered the first corner.

The second set of curves became a repeat of the first and his lights soon disappeared. Here I had to increase concentration and push harder, because the next straight was longer. I would need more of a lead to enter ahead of him at the last section.

He came bursting out on the last curve when I was about a third of the way down the straight. It was fortunate that this stretch of the highway was slightly downhill and the Volvo could get a better top speed. He sped up, began gaining on me and started to pass; as he pulled alongside, I glanced over at him. He started to drop back. Surprised, I looked at the road ahead. A ninety-degree right-hander was approaching fast. Nothing lay ahead except blackness and, to the right, a bare rock wall. The car started to drift into the left lane toward the dark emptiness. I had a vision of crashing through the barrier and flying into the dark emptiness. Horrified of my imminent flight, I panicked, over corrected and sent the rear end sliding back to the right. At this point, I realized that I was fighting the car. I had better put my brain in gear or... I eased the wheel into the skid and got the car straightened out just before it would have crashed into the stone face of the wall. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the GTO crossways in the road with his taillights visible. "How the hell did he do that," I thought.

I took the rest of the course a lot slower and kept looking for a place to pull off. As I motored down the straight stretch into the valley, a side road appeared. I turned onto it, stopped and started shaking. I tried to sit quietly. Five minutes later, the GTO came blasting down the main highway and disappeared into the desert.

I started to laugh.