It was a beautiful sunny day with a slight breeze, and the Jeep had no canvas covers on it so the Sergeant Major had no trouble heaving his huge bulk into the front passenger's seat. Under the Sergeant Major’s instructions I was to drive him to rifle range number 32, and I had a general idea where that was. All the rifle ranges at Fort Ord run along the beach, and you had to drive under highway 1 to get there. I proceeded at the proper speed limit trying my best not to do anything that would piss this guy off. I smiled to myself as I drove, and congratulated myself of my insight. I was now driving instead of running. I drove through the tunnel under highway 1, admiring the white cloud formations that were drifting in from the ocean, and came to my first problem. The rifle ranges ran to the left and right from the tunnel, separated by the crotch of a "Y" in the road. Being right handed I naturally leaned toward going right and headed down the right hand road.
The Sergeant Major immediately came to life and growled, "No dummy, go left." Being the perfect underling I responded instantly. My left foot jammed on the breaks, and my right foot crammed the gas pedal to the floor, clutched and I dropped the gear shift from third to second gear, and I spun the wheel hard left. (A text book example, just like your teenage Californian street hot rod drivers manual tells you to do in situations like this. Under the fear and evasion heading). The Jeep leaned wildly over as we veered left, and fish-tailed crazily on the loose gravel in the center of the "Y" as I accelerated from second back to third gear. After the Jeep straightened out and was now heading in the right direction I breathed out and glanced over to the Sergeant Major to see if he approved of my California driving ability. Well, the Sergeant Major wasn't there!