Almost all of us have heard a song in the car that just jams. In the not-so-distant past, the spontaneity of music radio increased that euphoria and sometimes now still does. Our abilities these days to stream music and fine-tune algorithms on those platforms remove some of that surprise. But the adrenaline from that perfectly-blended audio still exists. Hearing one of your favorite songs might have caused you to mash the gas a little harder and with little purpose. But this column isn’t about your sonic-speed-sin. It’s about mine.

You may remember my May 2020 column about my fairly accidental speeding ticket I received as a sort of wedding present in central Georgia. As we pulled ahead on the shoulder after the traffic stop, my new bride, Momo, suggested I have a guy’s night with the cruise control function on our 2017 Ford Edge. The quiet engine and effortless acceleration on this late model made breaking the law just as easy. Cruise control, turns out, worked just as seamlessly.

But I don’t use cruise control often on side roads, since there are not very many stretches on them in which to cruise. So that makes gaining city mileage the Achilles heel on my lead foot when something snappin’ jumps out of my speakers.

This happened to me recently on Clairmont Road in Chamblee. Those that know me well know that my uncontested favorite band is (and has been since I fell in love with music) the Red Hot Chili Peppers. One of many brilliant songs from their 2006 album “Stadium Arcadium” started on my music app.

“Wet Sand” is the second-to-last track on the “Jupiter” disc of that epic double-album. The 28- song collection, along with the various b-sides the Chili Peppers released in that period, is arguably the pinnacle of the band’s songwriting. John Frusciante’s chord progressions, solos, and backup harmonies are elite. Flea’s funky, intricate bass lines, lead singer Anthony Kiedis’ lyrics, raps, and melodies, and Chad Smith’s rock-solid drum beats hadn’t lost any steps from the 1990s.

And “Wet Sand” is a perfect encapsulation of the band’s range, building and crescendoing from a ballad to a zenith of an anthem and screaming guitar solo. Right there is where I hit the not-so-loud pedal on the Ford Edge and quickly eclipsed 55 mph while heading down a hill near DeKalb-Peachtree Airport.

I played a ton of bass guitar and string bass in high school and added rhythm guitar soon after. Adulthood’s rigors have kept me off of the fingerboards, though my heart never left them. I play along in my head when I hear good songs. And incredible tunes like “Wet Sand”, which Flea has said is one his favorite R.H.C.P. songs, really electrify my synapses and tingle my spine. That recent day, the half-step modulation down into the “Wet Sand” outro really got me.

“You don’t form in the wet sand, you don’t form at all. Whoa, you don’t form in the wet sand. I do. Yeaaaaaah!”

And I really felt the deliberate, simple chords from Frusciante pulse through me, while Flea’s (my musical idol) and Smith’s bass and drums thumped in lock-step:

E- F#m - G#m...over and over and then that unexpected D#!

The angle of the gas pedal decreased, as the speedometer needle became more obtuse. My goodness, I’m even typing faster now. I didn’t get popped for speeding that time, as I noticed the velocity-climb in the hill’s trough. But I haven’t always been so lucky.

My Chemical Romance’s “Welcome to the Black Parade” played on the radio of my 1994 Mercury Sable some ten years ago. I don’t love that song half as much as I love most Chili Peppers’ songs, but I nonetheless hit 55 mph on the damp pavement in Doraville and a police officer took notice. That was an expensive trip, as I ironically was driving back from having the brakes fixed on that decrepit sedan.

Buford Highway, including at the spot of my transgression near I-285, is as wide as an interstate, similarly to that aforementioned stretch of Clairmont Road. If traffic is light, speeding on either road is incredibly easy. Throw in some youth and a good song (not even a great one) and the soil is ripe for sowing speed.

At 35, I am far more conscious of my speed and recklessness than I was in my early 20s. I still have the need for speed, but I have to settle for driving go-karts once a year or just covering NASCAR races (which is incredible, by the way). But, I, the one who preaches often about safe driving, sometimes have the same problems as many others behind the wheel. I’ll join you in continuing to watch my speed, especially when Outkast’s “B.O.B.,” Holzst’s “Jupiter,” or just about anything upbeat by the Red Hot Chili Peppers starts playing. Habits can crumble in wet sand and then be rebuilt easily.

Cox Media Group