The BMW shutters almost imperceptibly as the car crosses the 100 mph barrier.  Chuck and I sit in uncomfortable silence, each of us running down the consequences of this, our most recent digression, back and forth through our soggy gray matter, trying to reconcile the positives with the negatives.  All I can come up with are disturbing images of spending the rest of my life in a very deep hole, naked and dirty, a toy for big Southern boys.  But it is not my foot on the petal of destiny, I am along for the ride, a confused hitchhiker or an unwilling captive possibly but no engineer, 'No Occifer, I never saw this man before in my life.'  I realize that pleading ignorance will not help my cause this time and resign myself to the fact that I have hitched my cart to a deranged ass.

BBRREEEEEEP!  BREEEP!  BREEP!  BREEP!  BREEP! - breaks the uneasy silence as pass 110 mph.

  “Shit!” coming uncontrollably from both of us this time, barely audible over the weight of our acknowledged deteriorating situation.  Our God-fearing cargo, safely snoozing in the rear up to this point, is going to be a little disappointed in this latest development.  Another State Trooper in the other lane had hit us again, not a quarter mile from first contact.  2 more State Patrol cars speed in the opposite direction, lights blazing, looking for a place to cross the median and give chase.  Now they know we are running and can smell the fresh meat…
  “We gotta get outta here,” this is obvious as we pass a sign for Bucksnot, 1 mile ahead.  Fortunately, at 110 mph, we can cover the distance in just over 30 precious seconds.  We hit a dip in the road, bouncing the vehicle roughly.  I shoot an angry glare at Chuck as if to say, 'What are you doing!  You will wake the sleeping children in back you buffoon!'  But they will know soon enough, certain facts can not be denied.
  As the exit ramp takes shape in the distance, some stirring is heard from the rear.  Our uninformed passengers are waking.  Michael, the token strong Christian in our group - along in case we need divine intervention, and Paul, our true spiritual leader with real experience in the realm of hard luck - and owner of the BMW, had been passed out in the back seat for the last hour and a half as Chuck and I took command of our flight from New Orleans.
  Now... waking to find yourself getting chased into the vast untamed bayou of Louisiana by 5 State Patrol cars with sirens wailing would probably be a bit disturbing to anyone, and it was of particular concern to both Michael and Paul.
  bmw... the ultimate hiding machine.