This story has been sitting in the dusty backroom of my mind for about 11 months, now. I think it's about time I share it.

So, Hertz makes a big announcement that they are going to offer some muscle cars as their "Adrenaline Collection." The collection consists of a Kona Blue Mustang 5.0L with a big fat white racing stripe, a solid black Camaro SS, and my favorite... a Toxic Orange 2011 Dodge Challenger R/T Classic with the black side stripes and a 5.7L Hemi V8 engine. Reading about it online, I fell in love. The 20" 5-spoke chrome wheels that look like a Cragar SS, the chrome "Challenger" script on the front fenders, the retro bodylines, aggressive front end and super-long taillights instantly put a vision of a 1970 Challenger in my brain. I NEEDED to drive one. Alas, the only cities to get them were warm-weather cities like Miami, LA, Houston, Dallas, etc. Chicago was WAY behind schedule.

One day, around 2am, I was sitting in my bus, idling. Listening to my Ipod and brainstorming for my novel (the "Neverending project"), when I started to get antzy. I got out of the bus and endured the sharp sting of the crisp February Chicago air. I looked around the empty American Airlines terminal and thought to myself  "So THIS is what the end of the world looks like." There was not a soul around. I boarded the obscenely yellow, almost prehistoric bus and closed the door. As I sat down in the worn-out driver's seat I glanced in the passenger mirror. A tall man appeared from the mist of the bus exhaust. Golf clubs in one hand, Starbuck's Coffee in the other. The doors hissed and slammed open as I put on my happy face to greet the customer. "Good Morning, Sir! Need help with your luggage?" I happily chirped. As the man boarded I recognized him as Justin Evans, the Hertz Chicago O'Hare Station Manager. He had just returned from a grueling and arduous golfing and meeting spree in Las Vegas and was visible beat. I helped him with his clubs and put the spurs to the 1998 Gillig bus. The 40 foot, black and yellow behemoth roared away into the night leaving only a trail of black smoke in it's wake.

As a bus driver, I observed many things. As a car-nut, I observed what kind of vehicles certain people prefer. I had a pretty high success rate of matching the right person to the right car. Sometimes it was easy, in Mr. Evans case, it was pretty hard. He ONLY drove a Camaro SS in Black or Red, or an Escalade. The Camaro SS was already like a rash all over the Hertz lot on any given day. THAT particular day, Hertz was low on cars, and a high-mileage Mazda 6 was the most likely candidate in Mr. Evans' future. I asked when the Challengers would get in. I had already rented a V6 Mustang, but I LOVE the styling of the Challenger. I practically begged him for information. He told me that he had little information as to when they would come. This was a moot point, considering that the average Hertz employee would not be able to rent something rare like that. The most expensive thing that I could roll off the lot in was a GMC Yukon XL. I was willing to pay full price for an R/T, though. He seemed tired and didn't really want to talk, so I didn't press the issue.

The ancient bus creaked and groaned as I rounded the corners with reckless abandon. The bus had become an extension of my being. I could wheel that 40 foot machine as easy as parallel parking a 1991 Ford Festiva (it's a really little hatchback car). Every bump sent shivers and chatters through the body of the bus. Loverboy blasted over the little speakers. I only listened to "80s on 8" since the buses came with Sirius and out of the six channels we could listen to, that was the easiest on the ears. The big iron gate jerked into motion as the bus headlights splashed a ghostly light upon it. The spike strips clanked as the heavy tires slammed over them. As we approached the "Gold Board" my eyes lit up. Sitting like the idol from the Indiana Jones movie, basked in the welcoming glow of the heat lamps sat a Pitch Black 2011 Chevrolet Camaro SS like a gift from the automotive gods! A chorus of angels sang as the bus brakes squeaked. The doors hissed open. I approached the dreary man. "Mr. Evans, I've got a surprise for you!" I grabbed his clubs and bounded out of the bus. I had the Camaro fired up, heater running and trunk open by the time he shambled out onto the curb. He rubbed his eyes and blinked. I could tell that he approved, but he didn't speak. He wanted to try to get the clubs in the trunk, but it was my job to help. Unfortunately, there was a small problem.

I'm not sure what the engineers at GM were thinking when they designed the Camaro. I've driven one for a short distance and being 6'3", 265 lbs, I found the headroom to be... umm... not there. The seats are hard and unforgiving. The car was light as a feather and you could feel every crack in the road. If you ran over a nickel, you'd feel it in the suspension. The thing that boggled me the MOST is the trunk. The trunk lid is rather large and fools the mind into thinking that you can put actual STUFF in the trunk, but once you open it, you see a hole that's 50% smaller that the lid. Putting those clubs in that car was like putting 10 lbs of manure in a 5 lbs bag. There was no way in Hell they were fitting back there, UNLESS you put down the rear seat. The hole for the rear seat access was still way smaller than the rear seats, but there was enough room to fit the clubs in (as long as you put them in head first). Now, the only problem was that the seats were touching folded down rear seats. Being a tall guy like myself, Mr. Evans liked his seats to lean back. I pulled that handle and threw ALL of my weight into that cloth seat and smashed it into the token rear seat. IT sufficed. There he seat behind the wheel of the Camaro. He sighed. "How did you know?" He queried. "It's my job." I replied, instantly thinking to myself  "What?! That didn't make any sense. What the hell's wrong with you. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stu..." I was cut off.

"You know what? When those Challengers come in, let me know when you want to take one out. I'll charge you a midsize car rate for one. Have fun with it." Saying that, he flung the shifter into drive and charged away, four taillights fading into the distance.

In a daze, I floated back onto the bus and finished my shift. I drove back in my Sonata with visions of Challengers dancing through my head.

Two days later, I was walking through the lot passed the 500 cars that Hertz had gotten back. Friday was usually a day of returns. People rent them out on Sunday night or Monday and return them Friday. As I passed the acres of Corollas, Camrys, Altimas, and Sentras, I noticed a flash of rust-colored orange. "Could it be?!" I thought to myself. I broke into a jog as I headed towards the orange metal, hidden by two Nissan Quest minivans. As I rounded the corner, my dream had come true. Fresh off a rent sat a 2011 Dodge Challenger R/T classic. I marveled at the shiny beast. Testing the doors, I found it locked. It still needed some kind of work before it could be rented. I found out that it and a Mustang 5.0L had been rented in Ft. Lauderdale and driven up to Detroit for the 2011 Hot Rod Magazine Power Tour. It still had the sticker in the windshield.. From Detroit, it was rented to Chicago. Everyday I asked the Service Manager until FINALLY, the day had come. IT was a cold Friday night. My hands were shaking as I went through the paperwork at the counter. The Manager was fairly new and had put my "Loss Damage Waiver" insurance under "Misc. Charges". I thought nothing of it. I wanted the insurance because I was going to get STUPID with that Hemi. The car wasn't in a slot, so I would have to find it, but I ran out, contract in hand. Through the dead of night, breathing hard in the cold Chicago frost I searched. Imagine Tuco in "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly" running around the graveyard at Sad Hill, looking for Arch Stanton's grave. That was me. Running through rows of Focus', Versas, and Yaris' as "Ecstacy of Gold" played in my mind, I stumbled. As I rounded the carwash, I spotted my target.

 Parked between a Sentra and a grey Charger sat that VERY same Challenger. I yelled into the night "YES!" and pumped my fist in the air like a Toyota commercial from the 80s. I gaped in awe as I ran my hands up and down the fenders. The cold sheetmetal squeaking in protest. I swung the big driver's door open and plopped onto the leather driver's seat. The door slammed shut and the window rolled up into the body automatically. I literally said "Cool" to nobody in particular. I wrung my hands on the leather-wrapped steering wheel. I noticed the audio controls on the backs of the steering wheel spokes, the controls for the sunroof, and the automatic headlights. I snapped out of my awestruck scavenger hunt of features and went through my usual "pre-flight checklist." I adjusted the steering column up and out all the way, the driver's seat down and back all the way, seatback up enough as to not be "pimpin'" but not upright like a church pew, passenger side seat same way (although I noticed on all the 2011 and up Chargers, Challengers, and 300s that the passenger seat doesn't line up with the driver's seat. Strange how sometimes the little things pop up), mirrors, instrument cluster brightness, etc. The moment of truth had come. The pushbutton marked "START/STOP" stared back at me, longing to be pushed. I swallowed hard, put my cowboy boot on the brake pedal and pushed the button. The idiot lights lit up like a Christmas tree as the Hemi fired to life! The throaty exhaust tone reverberated off the buildings and cars. I goosed the gas pedal a couple times as though I was waiting for the lights to turn green.

I cranked the heat and set it to defrost and set my radio stations on the FM dial and Sirius. I tuned it to channel 38, the Boneyard. Judas Priest reminded me that I've got another thing coming as I eased the R/T towards the security gate. I had to muster every ounce of self-control as I slowly pulled to the yellow arm. I don't even remember what the security guard had said or what he looked like, but I think it was something like "Moving up in the world, eh?" He was the furthest thing from my thought processes. The contract floated back into my field of vision as the crossing arm went up. I turned off the traction control and flung it out onto the service road, sending clouds of smoke up as I painted the asphalt black. The light had just turned green as I drifted out onto Bessie Coleman drive. I felt like Steve McQueen as I righted the car. I didn't feel any "Nanny systems" like with the V6 Charger. This R/T gave you enough rope to hang yourself. Laughing like a madman, I kept my foot on the teller. The Firestone Firehawk tires dug in and flung the Challenger headlong into the night. The 5.7L Hemi gave me ALL 390 hp and it felt GOOD! I'm not sure how fast I was going, but I drifted all the way around the exit ramp onto I-190. After I had gotten it all out of my system, I set the cruise at 60 and relaxed. My body was still shaking from the adrenaline. The "Collection" was aptly named.

I got her sideways around the Grand Ave to Dilleys Rd. left turn, but kept it at a decent speed the rest of the way home. I found that I can get 27 mpg on the highway at 60 mph. Impressive, considering that losing two cylinders and a couple hundred pounds with the Mustang only got me 31. I pulled into the driveway nest to the wife's Corolla and my Edsel and shut the motor down. I slept like I was eight years old on Christmas Eve. I couldn't WAIT to get behind the wheel again.

The next day, told the Wife that I had a surprise for her. I slung open the window shade and she reacted like we won the Publisher's Clearing House. "OH MY GOD!!! YOU BOUGHT THAT!!!" (Record scratches...) "What?" I asked. She was fanning herself, trying to form words. "No, I rented it." She relayed her relief that I didn't buy it since it wouldn't have fit in the budget. We decided to take it to the mall. I loaded the kids in the back seat. My little girl would've been 3 and the boy would be 2 at the time. They fit in the backseat with room to spare, unlike the Mustang and the trunk was HUGE! The double stroller fit in diagonally with room for groceries on the sides. I was thoroughly impressed. I drove it like a baby carriage to the Gurnee Mills Mall. We had a fun day of shopping, although I spent more than I wanted to. I figured that it was collateral damage considering the car that awaited me when we were done. We packed the kids in the car and were ready to head home. I pulled towards the exit and was stuck in stop and go traffic. Unbeknownst to us, there was a gruesome collision at Dilleys and Stearn's School Rd. The kids were crying and the wife was complaining about something. The '93 Lexus ES300 in front of us started to move. I took my foot off the brake and started to roll. My wife asked "Are you even LISTENING to me?!" I replied "What?! What do you..." SMASH!!!

The car that I waited SO LONG for and pulled SO MANY strings for had piled into the back of this crapbox Lexus. The kids were screaming, the wife was screaming (at me) and this guy flung his door open like he was gonna come flying at me like Superman.

He was an insurance salesman for Country Insurance. Neither car was in really bad shape. There was some spiderweb cracks in the paint on his rear bumper and near the headlight bezel on the R/T. A piece of trim fell off the R/T, but I stuck it back on. One almost couldn't tell. The police arrived ONLY after two other collisions happened BECAUSE of us. It looked like somebody bombed a drive-in movie. The police did their investigation. I didn't have my insurance card on me (which probably worked to my advantage). I think the guy was trying to sell me insurance. He gave me his card, told the police that the damage was pre-existing and never showed up for the court date. Either way, it sucked because I had just switched FROM Geico to 21st Century and cut my payments in half, but they found out about this collision and put them HIGHER than Geico. Out of the 8 cars that were involved in collisions on that stretch of road, we were one of the three that DIDN'T need to be towed away, so I guess I was lucky. The kids were fine, wife was fine, but I would never hear the end of it.

So, Sunday night I came rolling into the return lanes at Hertz. I came clean about the collision since I had the Insurance. I could've brought that car back in a bucket and poured it out on the desk and they couldn't say anything IF... (key word, there) IF the manager hadn't have put the insurance as "misc charges." I get a bill from Hertz for $291 for paint work. I also get to listen to my coworkers razz me about banging up the ONLY Toxic Orange Challenger R/T Classic or ANY Challenger for that matter)  in the Hertz inventory in the ENTIRE midwest.

I sat back behind the wheel of my Sonata, which paled in comparison to the almighty Challenger. How could I ever go back? Will life ever be the same? How would I react seeing another renter driving MY Challenger? Woe is me. One thing about the human spirit is that life WILL go on. I will go back. Life may never be the same, but it will go on and now I have a goal. I fired the 2.4L four cylinder and set out back to Gurnee.

I never saw THAT car again. There were plenty others like it, and for 2012, they ordered the R/Ts in Orange Crush. I hope to find that car, one day. It seems an impossible task, considering it could've wound up anywhere in the country and it has probably been sold by now. Maybe, if the automotive gods are in a particularly good mood one day, and if the planets and stars all fall in alignment, our paths may cross. Until then Challenger, long may you run. :)