|
Cool link, modernbeat, I appreciate it. And now, back to the story.
...I noted a set of flashing lights that weren't getting smaller in my rear view mirror. Oh yes, those were for me, all right. I signalled my intention to pull over, found a safe place, and did so. The officer stepped out of his car, and despite the clever shower cap thingie on his hat, I knew he was going to be wet by the time he got to me. I also knew from chatting with other traffic officers, that if he had to get out in the rain to deliver his message, it was unlikely to be a warning. I pulled my bandana down to my neck, so I didn't look like the subject of a wild west wanted poster, circa 1860. He sloshed up next to me.
"May I see your drivers license, registration and insurance card?" he asked, his tone belying the friendliness of his words.
"Of course, Officer," I said, eloquently capitalizing the O in Officer. "They're in a ziplock bag and they're down pretty deep, this may take a minute." I started unsnapping my rain gear.
Might as well get it over with. "That wasn't why you pulled me over, is it?" I asked.
There was a long pause, and then he said, slowly and distinctly, "I don't know where to begin."
Gulp. I started pulling up layers of shirts, working my way down to my plastic wrapped fanny pack.
"Do you know how fast you were going?" he asked.
Oh good, a question I could answer. "Yes I do," I said. "I was going exactly 70 miles an hour. I checked my speedometer with a GPS in Florida, less than a week ago."
Another pause. "You drove this from Florida?"
I shrugged. "It wasn't raining when I left."
"That's a drive," he said. "No windshield wipers."
"I have a windshield wiper," I said, demonstrating it with a quick squeege. "It works fine. I may not have been using it when you saw me because this Rainex works great..." and I babbled on a bit about the virtues of Rainex, and showed him how I could use the scrubber side of the windshield wiper to clean off the inside of the windshield, and showed him the cloth pad sewn into the backs of my Miller Welding mechanic gloves for wiping off my goggles in motion.
"No front fenders," he said.
"Front fenders!" I replied, patting them in the passenger's seat. "Got 'em right here." I went on to explain how they'd broken off coming into California, and finished with "...believe me, I didn't take them off to be stylin', I take a bath in the rain even with the fenders on, I'm sure not going to do anything on purpose to make it worse."
Then we talked some about appropriate speed for conditions, and how even if someone is not exceeding the posted speed limit, they can still earn a ticket--that posted limit assumes ideal driving conditions. I couldn't help but agree with him, and noted that the last hundred miles of a 5000 mile trip is no place to get sloppy on safety. I was still struggling with my wet clothes, so I said, "I think I'll have to get out to get to the paperwork. Could we discuss this further in your car?"
He thought for a moment. "No," he said, "be careful the rest of your drive." He gestured forward, and stood back from the Locost, and said, "The posted speed limit is 65."
I could think of two responses, and chose, "Got it, and in these conditions, a little slower would be better." He nodded and went back to his car. I started the Locost and merged into traffic, keeping it down to 60. I did the math in my head, going 60 instead of 70 would add maybe 9 minutes to the drive, getting pulled over killed 10 minutes minimum, so I'd stick with 60.
The other response to "the posted speed limit is 65," the one I didn't use, was, "Well how the heck was I supposed to know that? My tires throw up blinding walls of water on both sides of the car, you think I can read speed limit signs through this mess? The last sign I could see clearly enough to read said 70, I think it was just this side of Redding."
_________________
Locost builder and adventurer, and founder (but no longer owner) of Kinetic Vehicles
|
Login
Register
FAQ
Members
)