A First for Everything …

Thursday night, for the first time ever, I received a warning from a police officer after being pulled over.

Early in my 900 mile drive (all of which took place on Thursday), I was willing to set my cruise at ten over the speed limit, occasionally accelerating up to fifteen while passing or chasing some kid in a hot rod for a few miles. As the hours tick by and I get a bit more weary I tend to slow it down to about five over the posted limit.

I was doing exactly five over the speed limit (80 in a 75) when I got nailed by an Oklahoma Highway Patrol. I saw the lights, and soon saw them directly behind me, but I still couldn’t believe they were for me. Five over? Seriously?

The traffic stop got off to a bad start as I pulled over next to a guard rail, which would have forced the officer to dodge highway traffic to approach my truck. After a bit of car-to-car shouting, we agreed I should pull up a bit and then pull over. Again.

After all that, he still summoned me back to his car. “Bring your license,” he shouted, and I did. I walked around to the passenger side of his car and extended my license over to him, smacking my hand into his window. He then motioned for me to open the door.

“Clean glass you got there,” I said.

After taking a look at my license, the officer asked me that dreadful question: “Mr. O’Hara, do you know how fast you were going this evening?”

I scrunched my face up and rolled my eyes around a bit before giving him an answer. “A hundred and sixty-eight?”

He laughed. “I clocked you at 80 miles per hour,” he said.

“Oh, well that’s not nearly as bad,” I responded. He laughed again.

The officer proceeded to tell me that the reason he stopped me was he had received complaints from other drivers about my driving. I have to say, this is unbelievable. At five over on the turnpike, the only cars you pass are those with their flashing hazards on. I never weave in and out of traffic, especially when on the turnpike.

The officer asked me the other question I always used to get (“You in a hurry for something?”) and I told him that I had 49 miles left of a 900 mile road trip. I got him to laugh again by telling him that I must be the only FAA employee afraid to fly. When he asked why I quit flying I said, “Because — they hired ME!”

Maybe it was the third laugh that got him, but I managed to walk away with a warning. I apologized and thanked the officer, and when I left I set my cruise control exactly equal to the speed limit for those final 49 miles. And, I spent those final 49 miles being passed not only by every car, but by every bus and RV too. I think maybe even a tractor zoomed by me at one point.

My last traffic stop was I think in 2002 or 2003, so I hope to be good for another seven or eight years.