Darren led our pack out of the station, with Dale and James behind him in the Gremlin, the Belvedere next, then John and Opal's Valiant. I pulled out behind them, then Boone and Pops were once again the caboose in the Barnyard Viper.
We rolled along WI-11W effortlessly, until we made the left for Interstate 43 South, as soon as we jumped on the divided four lane, Rachael decided to blow around Dale and Darren, and take the lead.
"What the heck is she doing", was my first thought. All she had to do was follow along and let Darren lead us, "it's late, everyone is tired, and there is no need for this!" I reached for my phone, but decided against it.

Thirty-two miles later, as the route took us off the four lane and into the town of Beloit, Darren, along with Dale and John, pulled into the first station we came to on the right. Rachael, of course was a quarter-mile ahead of them by that time, and kept going, I decided to follow her, as I watched Boone pull in with everyone else. This time I did reach for my phone.
"Everyone else stopped at that station to the right", I informed her.
"Well screw my life! Why didn't they call me?" she shouted into the phone, along with a few other expletives.
"Why the heck did you think you needed to lead?" I shot back, feeling the anger beginning to rise.
"You told me to keep the air clean coming into the radiator, and they were all bunched up", she retorted.
"It's fifty degrees tonight, you don't need to worry about the car getting hot! Now slow down, and just cruise along until they catch up", I hung up.

We worked our way though Beloit Wisconsin, driving stoplight to stoplight through downtown, crossing the Rock River twice. I could imagine it was a good test for those who hit this during the day, but it was a traffic free ghost town for us. It seemed as I followed Rachael through town that the tail lights on the Belvedere were dimmer than usual, but I chalked it up to my tired eyes and the inconsistent city lighting. We crossed into Illinois on Highway 2 south, which seemed to follow along the river we had crossed in town, and made our way through Rockton. As soon as we were out of town, I found myself pushing the small block to 3200 rpm just to keep up with her on the narrow rural two lane. I reached for my phone again.
"Which part of slow the hell down did you not understand the first time!" I yelled into the phone when she answered.
"I'm running the speed limit", she retorted, indignant.
"The heck you are! Whatever that speedometer says, back it down ten, no, fifteen mph, and let's try that for awhile", I shouted.
"Also, you should consider pulling over and getting Skippy to check your alternator plug, the lights are dimming and I don't think it's charging".
"My dash lights are fine!" she exclaimed, and hung up on me, but she did back off the speed as instructed.