Word: motorist
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...back lay Woods, his silvery hair dyed black and his features concealed by a false mustache and thick glasses. When they were safely out of town. Woods jumped out and began a 185-mile hitchhike to a town near the Lesotho border. An accomplished mimic, he told one curious motorist that he was an Afrikaner. To another driver he explained that he was an Australian poet, and to a third a German engineer. "I fully expected," he admitted, "to find a roadblock beyond every turn." He crossed the border on foot, hiking twelve miles over thickly wooded terrain. After seeking...
...would-be motorist, problems can begin as soon as he decides he wants a car. The cheapest model, the Zaporozhets, a tinny little machine with a top speed of 55 m.p.h., sells for $5,140. The popular and somewhat peppier Zhiguli (top speed: 76 m.p.h.), a Soviet-built version of a Fiat 124, sells for $7,850-not too much above the price of an average U.S. 1978 model, but three times the average annual Soviet wage. About a third of Soviet auto production is for export, largely in the form of a version of the Zhiguli named the Lada...
...does local District Attorney Carol Vance. Twenty-four times in the past four years, he has developed cases involving murder or attempted murder by policemen on duty, but the county grand jury has returned only one indictment-against an off-duty cop who shot a motorist after an accident. Says Vance: "Citizens here are generally behind the police." He believes "the feds" might eventually have to take on the task of prosecuting lawless Houston cops-iust as in Philadelphia...
...schlock, seascapes, erotic mush. Even one-the specimen, say, that flashes nude girls in and out of view with Op-artful magic-can pop the eyeballs. When large numbers heave into sight, zooming along the road in a spaced-out phantasmagoria of a caravan, they can set the innocent motorist to gaping and muttering, "What is going on here...
...self-service" is also an independent: a place in Las Vegas called Terrible Herbst that features 48 pumps, all run by a staff of two. The stations of the future, some oilmen say, may be somewhat like those run by an outfit in Brussels called Nafta, where a motorist punches his credit card number into a computer, then fills up his tank from an overhead nozzle. The computer then charges the amount of the customer's purchase to his bank account...