I was riding shotgun in one of the really early panel Ty2, the one with no windows along the side except the front doors, and a tiny one in the middle of the back that was about the size of a dinner plate, and the tiny round side mirrors were about as big as a silver dollar, so it was like being in a traveling cave. We were on a freeway going uphill behind a big-rig, and my pal was hanging close to it to draft - he’d taken out the drop gears in the rear hubs, so it wasn’t as slow going as it could’ve been. Got over the top, and he pulled in closer and we we were being sucked along by that big-rig, going as fast as that Ty2 ever would. Pal gets this wild look in his eyes and says, “I’m gonna pass!” and before I could say anything, he pulled over quick to pass. It was like a giant hand put itself in front of us, and I literally bounced off the dash a little, had to brace myself with one arm. That van seemed like it stopped dead, altho it really didn’t. The engine sound shot up into this high squeeeeeeeee and then went down the the revs as he let off the gas. The big-rig was almost invisible by then, it was so gone. “WTF you do that for?!” I yelled. He didn’t really have a coherent answer. We proceeded at our previously standard Ty2 leisurely pace.
