Before I had my DVL, I helped my dad with amateur radio stuff around town. We helped a local ambulance company build a communications van from a mid-70s Chevy box van. I loved the project, and 14 yo me loved flipping on the code 3 lights when no one was looking.
One winter evening, there was some sort of meeting with the responders of a plane crash in Iowa, the one that cartwheeled down the runway after it lost hydraulics. A lot of those responders were there.
The meeting was about 60 miles away, there was a very heavy snow event, and the ham radio club thought it'd be fun to take the van we were working on. The owner of the ambulance company drove.
I remember the speedo hovering at no less than 75 mph, and creeping up towards 90, as I *stood*, stabilizing myself against a shelf as we barreled down the 2 lane farm road. I remember being both terrified yet sort of serene, knowing that the driver should have had enough experience to not kill us all.