|Topless Connecticut (Courtesy NY Times)|
(Linda Eckstein, All My Eyes)
What made it particularly great was that, unless you perfectly timed the point at which you took your foot off the gas and controlled the speed you were going, you would not have enough momentum to carry you through the stretch where the road leveled off between two fields and make it to the point where you started rolling downhill again. You could try opening the door and pushing off with a foot—or two if you had a passenger—but, if you mistimed it completely, you had to concede defeat and put the car in gear. If, if you got it just right, you would creep along, nearly coming to a stop, before slowly, slowly picking up speed until you were flying again, using the brakes only at the stop sign where the road met Route 2A in the middle of Poquetanuck Village.... I can still picture the exact point in the stone wall at the top of the curve of the hill where you give it the gas one last time, throw it into neutral, and let it go.
The best coasting car of all was a 71 Dodge Demon. Talk about close to heaven!
(This post dedicated to James W. and James V., coasting scholars both.)