Alright....here's the deal.  This story really happened.  But I find myself having to prove it.  So if you were there that night in 1965..... please step forward and sound off.  I do have one witness, Smokey Pearson, but I need further collaboration.  On my 2nd date with my current wife (the first date was a hayride at Kathy Gleason's ranch where we kissed) we went to the Frontier Drive-In on Austin Highway and then skedaddled to the notorious Lover's Lane that used to exist in the field behind International Airport, accessible from what used to be San Pedro and is now Highway 281.  As I pulled off the highway in my Dad's brand new blue Rambler American sedan I cut my headlights (out of respect to the lover's  parked in cars ahead) and very slowly drove to a secluded spot in the small formation of cars engaged in romantic endeavors.  We had our soft drink cups resting on the dashboard....I had not progressed to beer yet.  I was a tad anxious...anticipating the potential pleasures of the evening and whether or not I was up to the challenges that lie before me.  This was my first rodeo....my first trip to Lover's Lane...so I was distracted and sadly overlooked the small "Danger" sign as I crept along.  Suddenly and without  warning my car nosedived as if I had driven off a cliff....which in fact I had.  Deb and I were thrown, along with our coca colas, into the windshield.  The culvert was about 20 feet deep and my Rambler was nose down at about 80 degrees, the front end smashed in...radiator steaming...fenders jammed into the tires.   I could not open the doors so I rolled down the window, crawled out and pulled Deb out.  Although soaked in soda pop and humiliated I tried to maintain an even strain.  We scaled the culvert and crossed the highway where I saw a phone booth.  I am still amazed that at age 14.... I had the good sense to call a tow truck and not my old man.  The night ended like a bad ER episode.  I drove my date home riding shotgun in a Tow Truck....I asked the driver to stop a few houses shy of the Manning house so her parents would not be aware that I had crashed with their only child.  The photo I have in my mind is of Deb sliding off the seat of the elevated Tow Truck cab and striding home as if nothing had happened....cool as a cucumber...already on to the next event in the social calendar of her mind.   I then had to face the music from my old man when we pulled up with his demolished Rambler.  He was on his way to Vietnam, so he already had a dent in his mood.  In short, I got a full scale military grade butt chewing and was grounded indefinitely.  To make matters worse I felt my reputation and image had been sullied by this experience and I lost the nerve to ask Deb out again....that is until I turned 50 something.  Stuff like this really happens.  Now I've told you all that there is to tell on this matter......Deb thinks I am making the whole thing up....she can't remember any of it.  Either she used psychedelics later in the 60s or it was such an insignificant event in her memory that it (or I) did not register for future reference.  So...I'm counting on someone else who was there that night (or who heard the guffaws at school the next day) to bail me out.

Rog - Your story seems to bring back somewhat foggy memories of this dramatic event.  Although I was not there that night, I seem to recall something about that next week at school, where you took something of an emotional beating for the antics.

Anyway, as I recall, it was rather short-lived and you were back in the saddle (maybe not the Rambler) again...

Well - I cant provide a confirmation of your specific event - but I can tell of the cliff this way.  There were numerous incidents over on that side of the airport (the other airport lover's lane was at the south along 410, near Wetmore).  The cliff was a former structure slab.  The ground tapered to it on the south and it dropped clean off on the north.  I got right to the edge before realizing one nite too.  Lots of people drove right over that edge and the Tows were around farming the situation.  I went by there with intention one daytime to investigate that sucker - and it was quite a bad condition.  Lover's Lane, eh? There were several back then.  There's no place to go anymore without creeps and such preying.  When the heavy petting days came along for our son - we just let them go upstairs and have at it.  Worked out well enough for him and his girlfriends, I guess - and my Rambler was able to be traded-in on schedule...  Chester..