I was driving a terrifically fast hot rod down one of the main highways of Cleveland when one of the city prowl cars pulled up beside me. He asked me where I was going so I told him that I was almost late for the Bedford races. At this, he told me to follow him. So we raced through traffic at the distress of the siren. They immediately put a number on my hood, and I found myself in the midst of a close race. I was just turning a corner when my rod started to jump out of control. A pole in the side of the fence loomed before me and I ducked.