It's November. It could easily be snowing by now (knocking wood) and it probably will be snowing next week. So with winter coming, all I’m trying to do is get out in the cat every possible chance I get before that day comes. Once the snow lands and stays on the ground, the salt trucks go to work. And then it’s hibernation for the cat until the April rains finally wash the salt away.
Anyhow, this morning I woke up to a sunny day. An absolutely gorgeous late fall day. I called my buddies and we planned a ride to Little Italy for a cappuccino. I took a different route than usual, avoiding the expressway. I have no idea why I did that. I guess I was just taking in the scenery and happy to be back in the saddle, enjoying cruising along slowly.
Well, that didn’t last long. After 10 minutes of barely getting out of 2nd gear I was looking for any patch of open road. I came to a light. In front of me lay nothing but clear road. It was a narrow, sort of local residential street, but it ran alongside train tracks with no cross streets. “Ok, can I put the hammer down?” I asked myself. I hadn’t seen a single police car anywhere. I glanced in my mirror to make sure, but all I saw was my air cleaner and wing. I clicked on my rear view camera but the sun was directly on the screen and I could see nothing at all. “Hmmm, I better adjust the angle of the screen so I can see what’s behind, just in case,” I said to no one in particular. Anyhow, as I was trying to figure how the f%&k to change the angle of the screen without retracting it fully, the light changed to green. I slowly rolled off then gave in and hammered it – just a little. I enjoyed the expected twitching, feathering the throttle and sawing the wheel to keep it in a straight line. I grinned then decided to lift off and relax, just in case.
Weooooooo, weeoooooooo… holy shit! Red and blue flashing lights filled my side mirror as a police car screamed into view. “This is really gonna be bad,” I thought. High speed in a very low speed zone. Suddenly my subconcious took over. With an automatic function control running deep inside the brain, my body sprang to life. I pulled over quickly, my mind racing. I hurriedly unsnapped the belts, threw them aside so I could jump out of the car before my pursuers came to a stop.
I bailed out of the car and walked quickly back to meet them. I was shaking my head and using my hands was apologizing profusely, hoping to keep them busy enough so they wouldn’t say “Get back in your car, sir!”
So far so good.
I told them how sorry I was. How I just got out from under the car. How I had this electrical glitch. How it only appeared under load around 3500 RPM. How I changed several parts without any luck and was going to put the car away for the winter and needed to fix it today and thought I finally got it right. How there was no one on the street and I was just looking for a few seconds to check it out… and on and on.
“You were traveling at almost 3 times the speed limit – 150 in a 50 zone,” (kph not mph) said one of the boys in blue.
Ouch. I could see the front glass twisting then shattering as I pictured the cat being crushed as he explained how twice the speed limit is automatic street racing and… my mind blotted out the rest and I continued yabbering about MSD’s and coils.
“Show me!” said the other cop.
Awesome. This is working!
I popped open the engine bay and I could almost feel their pulse quicken. I went into a complete description of all the ignition components, pointing them out and explaining how I had changed them all one by with no luck until this morning when I changed the MSD box. The two cops were swooning over the engine bay by now. One was reading out loud the “Porsches for breakfast, Ferraris for lunch” over my license plate and laughing.
“I don’t really drive fast,” I said. “Honest. I wouldn't want to break anything on this car.”
“Yes,” they replied. “That’s a nice car and the roads here are really bad. You should be careful with a car like that.”
He asked for my licence, registration and insurance. I handed them over and pleaded, “Do you really have to give me a ticket?”
“We have to check you out first,” he replied.
I hung around as the traffic drove past this scene unfolding on quiet Sunday – police, exotic car, bad guy getting what he deserves. I could almost imagine the explanations going on inside each car. “Aha! You see, what happens when you drive fast? Good for him. Crazy hot rodder. Lock him up. Take away his fancy car.”
They came out and handed me back my papers. “No ticket?” I asked gingerly.
“Not this time,” he said. I thanked them profusely then tried to get them to pose for picture, but they waved me off. “You already took one,” he said. I guess he saw me as I tried to hide taking these fast ones with my iPhone.
Awesome good luck.
That ticket would have been a real mother to fight in court and could have led to the demise of 9203. I could say that I will drive more slowly from now on. But I know that won’t be happening. I need to make sure I always check my mirrors and cameras, though. And if I can’t see behind me, then I can’t put my foot down. It was simply a very stupid mistake that I will not make again.
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