Tuesday, July 26, 2011

My old man once marveled over the splendor of our domestic highway system–just the idea of laying pavement from sea to sea, he explained, was astonishing–and to this day I recall his wonderment, whenever I hit the asphalt. He also outlined, in broad strokes, how best to handle cops, should they ever pull you over for enjoying these majestic turnpikes a little too much, and this discussion has also served me well.

I got tagged with my first speeding ticket about three-and-a-half years ago. 86 in a 70. You never forget your first ticket, after all, and technically I was going 92, but my radar detector saved my bacon by granting me a few precious seconds to ease up on the accelerator. Honestly I thought some dude was following me, which prompted me to pick up the pace and try to lose my tail, only to discover the tail in question was an unmarked police car.

Do I speed because it saves time? Absolutely not. The number of minutes reclaimed is nominal at best and, if I’m being honest here, a terrible trade-off for safety. Do I speed because it feels great? Yes. Guilty as charged. (And that’s precisely what you shouldn’t say to the popo.) Why do traffic jams, texting drivers, and poor lane discipline annoy? I think it’s because roads were made for movin’. Velocity is a kind of covenant with the road, and any slowdown amounts to a violation of it. But we’ve spoken about this idea before, so I don’t plan on rehashing it so soon. No, I want to discuss what happens when the long arm of justice reaches for you. That’s for Thursday, though, which means you’ll want to hightail it back here for the rest of this conversation. And if you happen to pull in here with a rolling stop, well, you’ll find no judgment from me.