It was utterly surrealistic. In a heartbeat, the once-proud Alfa Romeo roadster had been reduced to a smoldering heap of mangled metal. Did this really just happen? One moment, gliding and slithering around bends. How could this be? The next moment, slamming into a concrete embankment, spinning out, and wheezing its last breath. When was I going to wake up from this nightmare?
Ever since I saw the movie The Graduate, the image of Dustin Hoffman rocketing up and down the California coast in pursuit of his True Love in his 1967 Alfa Romeo convertible became my quest. All I needed was the means…
And then along came Wonderbug. In 1976, I had landed a television series: essentially The Mod Squad for kids — with the added bonus of a magical dune buggy named Wonderbug. So, it was only fitting that a magic car enabled me to get my own magic car.
And it was truly a thing of beauty. Fully restored…from its sleek, red body to its immaculate aluminum engine. I bathed, and polished, and waxed it past the point of obsession. Every imperfection — even a squashed gnat on the windshield — was immediately remedied.
I hadn’t had my Alfa for more than a few precious months. Early on Sunday mornings, I’d test her limits on the empty roads in the hills outside of Los Angeles. She drove like a dream: smooth, nimble, and spry.
One curve in particular begged to be challenged. I mean, it simply needed to be conquered. And Alfa and I were not to be denied. I wondered, how fast could my baby take this curve? Determined to find out, I began to experiment, gradually increasing the speed with each trial. Pushing and pushing the limits. How fast could I take this curve? One fateful morning, I found out. I hit the limit. And the wall.
I had once fantasized about zooming up the Pacific Coast Highway in pursuit of my True Love. Instead, I ended up demolishing my True Love on a barren hill. With no one to blame, but myself.
How close can you clip your fingernails? Is the paint dry enough for you to touch? How deep can you dig before you hit the sprinkler line? Do you give the screw just one more twist? Should you toast the bagel just little bit longer? Should you give your lips just one more collagen injection? Is it safe to have just one more drink? Should you give your partner just a little more “honest feedback” about their appearance? Should you try just a little bit harder to seduce your date?
In short, how do you know when you’ve gone too far? The answer, unfortunately, is when you’ve gone too far.
Sure, it’s challenging — and sometimes even fun — to push the limits. But at what cost? Are you willing to pay the price of your risk/reward miscalculation? You can always toast another slice of burned bread or mend a broken sprinkler line. Not the same for totaling your car. Or violating someone else’s trust. Or jeopardizing your life. We test the limits at our own peril.
One pretty reliable way to err on the side of caution is not to put yourself in a position where you’re even tempted to push the limits. In my case, my very next car was also a
convertible — but this time, not a little Italian sports car. Instead, it was a 1965 Chevy Impala — with all the size, girth, and nimbleness of a WWII Sherman tank. And, voilà! Temptation: nonexistent.