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Those cars were notorious for the latch popping open at any time.
Source: I had a '78 Camaro.

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It looks like we're all Bay Area refugees!

My Camaro was a shark-nose '97.

For classics, I owned a '73 Charger SE and I loved me the hell out of that car, too. It was the size of an aircraft carrier and the engine compartment was bigger than my condo. The scariest thing about that car was how easily the back end would come around in a sharp turn. The first rains of the year were a horror show when the pavement was like oiled glass. "Am I gonna beat that red? Gun it! ... uh-oh."

Now I drive a Mazda 3 and responsibly. Getting old sucks.

The fastest I've ever traveled in a car was when I rode in my friend's '68 Firebird on the straightaway near Scotts Valley on Highway 17, where we hit just shy of 140mph. The car felt like it was going to shake itself apart. Never felt the need or want to go anywhere close to that speed again.

What year was your Z-28? Got pics? I absolutely LOVED me some late 60s Firebirds and Camaros when i was younger.

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I love 84!

I had some friends into exotic cars and we'd take 84 over to the coast now and again, mostly because we had a shit-ton of money and a shit-ton of spare time to kill -- the Dot-Com fucking rocked!

There's a bend in the road just outside La Honda on the coastal side that's a 15mph hairpin with a tree at the apex. It's a lovely goddamn thing, especially when you forget it's there. So here we all come, lane-trading and exercising general assholery in cars that cost what a nice single-family home does.

Oh FUCK, the turn!!

My friend in the 911 does this beautiful trail-brake and swings through the curve. Elise follows suit, complete with smoking tires. Next up is Countach. He BARELY holds it together, but gets through without any real drama.

Now it's my turn.

Did I mention I was driving a '97 Camaro Z-28? Yeah, Camaros of that year are good at exactly one thing: driving very fast in very straight lines. Corners? Yeah, not so much. I realize I'm in trouble and I'm coming into the turn WAY too fast. I grab the shifter and get ready. My plan is that I'm going to slam it into first, let the rev limiter do its thing to save the engine, pull the e-brake and swing the tail, then punch it and swing the ass-end around and launch out of the curve with smoking Z-rated tires and all!

And HERE WE GO -- grab the shifter, yank it all the way down and...

That's when California emissions standards fucked me.

You see, when you buy a Camaro Z-28 in California, you don't actually get first gear. You get what's called a California First, which is actually SECOND gear, because if you were actually able to use FIRST gear, the goddamn car would belch enough emissions to make a farting Brontosaurus blush. And second gear ain't exactly gonna work for my little plan.

tl;dr is that I hit the no-lock brakes hard enough to get my speed down and was able to bring the ass around with the little e-brake trick. I wasn't out of the woods because I over-corrected on the way out and spun. The same God that I spite and don't believe in actually saved my ass and I didn't end up going off the road. Apparently, he loves fools and Z-28 Camaros.

I honestly had more fun in that car than the law allows: sometimes literally, like when I got clocked at 110 coming onto the straight at King City. Good times, man, good times.

I fucking hate pelicans.

Two days after I bought me a brand new '97 Camero Z-28, I was doing the 500 mile break-in and decided to drive up to the San Mateo coast for a nice little blaze up sesh at that beach next to Pescadaro. I park my new baby and trot down to the beach. Three hours and far too many hits later, I stumble back to my car.

And there, on the freshly-waxed hood of my Poor Man's 'vette, is a gigantic green, dinner-plate sized, dead-fish reeking gelatenous birdshit. This thing was fucking epic, too. At first, I was pissed, then I kinda had a sense of admiration 'cause y'all don't see that kinda bird turd every day -- it was really a once-inna-lifetime experience -- but then I went back to being fucking furious when the breeze blew the stench of rotting fish in my direction and I knew I be smelling that shit all the way down Highway 1 and back over 17. Oh yeah, and it was as thick as a pancake, too, and it was bookin' no shit from the poor Mexican fuck with the power washer that I paid $10 to wash it off back in Mountain View.

I know a pelican did it, too. Pelicans got no sense of decency. That goddamn flying monstrosity took one look at my bitchin' Camaro and said, "Yup, you're fucked now Human!" I'm sure that feathered fucker was storing that guano up for a week, just waiting for some oblivious stoner to park his BRAND FUCKING NEW car in that particular spot so it could projectile shit all over the hood.

Goddamn pelicans.

I don't wanna be a 24kt dick here, but I fucking HATE seagulls.

Seagulls and Canadian Geese are both the assholes of the avian world and fuck 'em both. God was in a shitty mood when he created these flying abominations. Oh, and pelicans. Yeah, fuck them, too. A pelican took a shit the size of a dinner plate on my (at the time) brand new '97 Z-28 Camaro. Right on the fucking windshield, too. I mean, one minute, I'm enjoying myself at the beach and the next minute I'm looking at a greasy green rotten-fish-reeking shit covering half my goddamn windshield. I have no clue what pelican anatomy looks like, but they must be 99% rectum and 1% ill intents. What a wonderful time to discover I was outta windshield wiper fluid, too. Two little squirts and then my wipers were just smearing semi-digested fish across my windshield. Oh, that FUCKER! I know which one did it, too -- it was the one sitting on a post like three feet away laughing at me. Oh, sure, I could have beaten it to death with a tire iron, but then *I* would have been the one in trouble. You can't ticket a pelican for taking a massive dump on your car, but beat one to death with 2 feet of galvanized steel and you're the one who has to explain it all to a judge.

People feed those rancid fuckers, too. I hope the next cocksucker who tosses a Ritz in the direction of a pelican is staring at the sky with mouth agape when the damned thing decides to void its football-sized ass. That'd be karma right there, and fuck all the people right now going "that's not how karma works!" They can just start putting their Dharma-believing asses to work cleaning my windshield with their tongues.

Please forgive me: I've been drinking for the last six hours and I've gotten maybe a little feisty.

wait, what? how could any 80's kid mix up mustang and camaro?

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Unlike the Camaro/motorbike video, this IS a close call. The truck is probably a wreck but the policeman AND his vehicle are unscathed.

Get the fuck off the phone, Camaro driver.

Wilkens was awarded more than $180,000 in total damages.

Jurors additionally determined that Edwards acted with negligence when his police car rear-ended Wilkens’ motorcycle, but ruled that the veteran state trooper did not violate Wilkens’ rights by pointing a gun at him and using force to handcuff and then pull Wilkens to his feet.

Wilkens suffered a broken left clavicle, a fractured rib and other injuries in the Aug. 3, 2012, incident.

http://registerguard.com/rg/news/local/33955359-75/federal-jury-rules-in-favor-of-speeding-motorcyclist-against-oregon-state-police-trooper.html.csp

Some other nice bits in the article, the officer was driving an unmarked chevy camaro, was unaware that it was equipped with a dash cam, and blamed the rear ending of the bike on 'brake fade' (which a brake expert testified was rare in modern brake systems).

It's a fun read, also the cop was later promoted to captain.

Well... honestly, Canadian Languages was an elective in University, I was majoring in Z-Stacking (pronounced zed-stackn). Z-Stacking is not unlike rock cairn balancing, only you use cinder blocks and a '87 Camaro Z28 with no wheels.

Hop out to the Wet Coast, we'll go fer a rip, and grab a 2-4 of Lucky Kings.