"Do you have any idea why I pulled you over?"
I was really hoping to make it out of the States without a speeding ticket. Unfortunately, the odds are always stacked against me...
As the young officer takes my spare license and registration back to his truck to run my plates, the Chief of Police approaches on a mission…
“Son, do you have any idea why I pulled you over?” (Silence, as to avoid any self-incrimination…plus, it could have been a number of things in the past moments.)
“No, Sir.”
“You passed me, three other cars, and two semis illegally all at once back there…and you appeared to be dancing on your bike or sumthin’!” (Whew, he didn’t have the radar gun going. Also, that move would have been totally legal in Guatemala.)
“Just trying to stay warm. Apologies, Sir.” (True.)
“Did you see the solid line?”
“Well, Sir, it looked dotted at the moment.” (True again…but I knew. We had been at a snail's pace for at least a quarter-mile!)
“That’s because it’s winter here…and there’s sand on the road…because it’s freezing and there’s often ice on the road. Do you know what ice and sand do to motorcycles?” (Really stressing the depths of my motorcycling knowledge….ooooh, gotta reach way back to an MSF course now. If only it were multiple choice…)
“Roger, Sir…increased likelihood of an accident.”
“Damn right! You must be some kind of idiot. Did you recognize my car? The white one with no light bar?” (Ugh…unmarked.)
“No, Sir. I likely wouldn’t have passed you if I did.”
*Pause* “What are you in such a hurry for?!”
“Trying to get to Toronto before it gets too cold, Sir.”
“TORONTO!? It’s only 28-degrees here, and colder up there. Yeah, something's not right with you.” (He DID look a little cold.)
“Roger, Sir. Many apologies for that. I do appreciate your concern.”
“How long you been riding motorcycles?” (Finally acknowledging Mean Green, standing quietly there.)
“Since I was 9 years old, Sir.”
“Well, I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long.” (I could feel him warming up to me…maybe.)
“My father would say the same, Sir.”
“Well, if I were your father, I’d make you sell that thing and get a Harley like I ride. Then you’d slow down.”
“Roger, Sir. Happened a time or two, but I still don’t have a Harley.” (So tempted to go further down that path and explain why.)
He circled the bike slowly as the other officer returned with my documentation and a fresh traffic ticket. “Have you ridden all those places? Australia? Mexico?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You from Texas?”
“Roger, Sir.”
“I see the plates…West Point?”
“Roger, Sir.”
*Pause* “Couldn't tell from the hair."
"It's been a while, Sir."
"Well, you need to simmer down…I’d hate to get a call and have to scrape you off the pavement 10 miles down the road. Now go.”
“Thank you, Sir. Have a great day, officers.”
No ticket! Felt like the good ole days of run-ins with the law in high school. I couldn’t help but chuckle for 10 minutes straight…and each time I passed a semi.
Writing this, I realized I'd missed the opportunity for a selfie with the Chief.
