Fraters Libertas

Maybe I Should Have Slipped Him A Hummel...

On Saturday I became the second member of the vaunted Northern Alliance (trademark pending) in a week to have a run in with the law. But unlike another rather well known scofflaw, I did not emerge unscathed from my encounter.

Fate is an fascinating and cruel mistress. Often when we experience an unfortunate event in our lives, we like to retrace our steps. We re-examine the decisions that we made, or did not make (if you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice) that led us to our destiny.

Every year my wife and I make a trek to Pepin, Wisconsin to enjoy a meal at a wonderful little restaurant called the Harbor View Cafe. Typically we take this journey in the fall to enjoy the colors of autumn. We also do some shopping in the various artsy/craftsy/antique shops in the area, which make their living off day trippers like us from the Twin Cities. And after a sumptuous lunch, we usually stop off at Frontenac State Park just south of Red Wing, Minnesota to work off a few calories with a hike on the bluffs overlooking the Mississippi River.

Early last week we decided that Saturday would be a good day to do the Pepin run. But later in the week the weather forecast for Saturday was not looking good. Cold, cloudy, and rainy. So we elected to wait until sometime in early November. But lo and behold Saturday morning dawned with blue skies and sunshine. Yes, it was cold. But it was clear, at least in the morning. And there was no rain in the day's forecast.

October and November are extremely volatile months for weather in Minnesota. You never know just what to expect. Last weekend it was in the high seventies, even the low eighties here. This weekend it was in the forties. It might snow today, but it could also be sixty five on Halloween. Rather than risk waiting and having even worse weather in November, we once again changed our plans and the Pepin trip was back on. First opportunity to avert trouble missed.

There are a couple of different ways you can get from St. Louis Park, Minnesota to Pepin, Wisconsin. Probably the most direct route is to go south and pick up the 494 portion of the loop and take Highway 61 to Red Wing before crossing over to Wisconsin. You can also take Highway 62 to Highway 55 into Hastings and then hook up with Highway 61. It's a route I've taken a few times and is more scenic, but it takes a bit longer. On Saturday I considered revisiting it (sorry, but I couldn't resist) but instead decided on the 494 alternative. Opportunity number two to avoid trouble passed on.

And so we were cruising along on 494. Which in and of itself is not normal. The section of 494 that runs in the south metro area is usually a traffic nightmare. It's not as if it's always busy, it just seems that more and more often you can expect to run into congestion, even during non-rush hour times. So it was a liberating experience to find few cars on the road and plenty of room to operate. And I took full well advantage of this dearth of traffic.

I was tailing a white Dodge Intrepid, which was also humming along at a nice clip. As we both executed a pass of three slower cars on the bridge over the Minnesota River, I glanced down at my speedometer and noticed that we were doing between eighty and eighty five. That's a little fast, I thought. I should probably back off a bit. But we are making good time. That was the third and final chance I had to alter my imminent doom but once again I failed to act.

Shortly after crossing the bridge we came around a tight curve. A cleverly concealed Minnesota State Trooper was lurking under an overpass just on the other side of the curve. I caught him out of the corner of my eye and braked hard to reduce my speed. The Intrepid did not spot him right away and continued on at high speed for at least three seconds longer than I did. Then he too drastically cut his speed and pulled over into the center lane. I moved over as well and nervously glanced in my rear view mirror to see the sickening site of the trooper pulling out into traffic. Damn!

My only hope was that he had locked onto the Intrepid and was after him. But it quickly became apparent that I was in trouble when the trooper swept in behind me. He probably could have taken either one of us but since the Intrepid was in front of me, I was going down. For about thirty seconds he followed me and I was praying that maybe, just maybe he was going to let me slide. It's an enormously uncomfortable feeling when you know that your fate hangs in the balance. You try not to look into your rear view mirror too much but you can't help yourself. When the cherries finally do come on it's a shot to your solar plexus.

I pulled over to the shoulder and silently cursed the driver of the white Intrepid. While I was now in the depths of despair, he was feeling the elation that comes from surviving a near miss and was now Scot free. Bastage!

One of the first decisions that you have to make after being stopped by the police is how you're gonna play it. You don't have a lot of time to weigh your options either so you need to pick a game plan and stick to it. Since I'm not much of an actor I usually opt for the straight shooting but slightly clueless role. Sort of the the absent minded good citizen. A combination of being respectful and repentant. Cops don't like BS so I don't waste their time. That, a clean record, and a humble attitude have proven effective in the past. I haven't received a speeding ticket in over fifteen years, despite the occasional traffic stop.

The trooper approached the car and I made ready by digging out my license and rolling down the window. I believe in trying to make things as simple and painless as possible for both parties.

He was a young man but very professional and courteous.

"Good morning sir. I'm Officer Karlson. Do you know why I pulled you over today?"

Um...You liked the 'Deserve Victory' bumper sticker in my back window and wanted to know how you could purchase one yourself? Yeah, that happens all the time officer. In fact just the other day....

"Hmmm...I might have going a little over the speed limit.", I meekly replied.

"I had you on the laser doing eighty two."

Sounds about right.

"Do you know what the posted speed limit is here on four ninety four?"

"Sixty five?", I guessed hopefully.

"No it's sixty."

I rapidly did some calculations in my head. Eighty two minus sixty is twenty two. Twenty two miles over the speed limit.

And I reached a conclusion: I'm screwed.

"Any reason for your speed today sir?"

Well I'm not an engineer but I believe it has something to do with the amount of force I was applying to the accelerator with my foot.

Instead all I could offer was a lame, "Not really."

After checking my insurance and confirming that I was wearing a seat belt before the stop (I was) he returned to his car to begin the proceedings. At this point I still had a glimmer of hope, however unrealistic, that after checking my record, he might let me off with a warning. But as the minutes passed, my hopes faded. He was doing some serious writing and it wasn't a Happy Halloween note.

He returned and presented me with a citation.

"Sir I'm citing you for seventy in a sixty mile per hour zone. As I said I could have cited you for eighty two."

Gee thanks.

"If you wish to contest this citation you must appear in court in West St. Paul on November 26th at 1:00pm. Or you can just pay the fine. You can use the shoulder to build up speed before merging into traffic. Be careful and have a nice day."

Due to years of conditioning in commercial transactions I almost blurted out a "thank you" but managed to restrain myself and simply nodded my head. And in a way I guess I was fortunate, for if the officer had chosen to write me up for my true speed, I would be looking at a hundred and thirty five dollar contribution to the government coffers. This way I ONLY have to pay a mere hundred and five bucks. Lucky me.

Despite the rough start we soldiered on to Pepin and a couple of hours later, thanks in large part to a very generous glass of fortifying The Macallan Cask Strength Scotch (write that one down King), a couple of Summit Extra Pale Ales, and a delicious meal, I had pretty much put the whole incident behind me. Until I got back in my car and saw the bloody ticket staring me in the face. D'oh!

It's not really the hundred and five I have to shell out that really grates me. It's the fact that for the next year or so I'll have to be extra careful about watching my speed. I'll have to stick to the slow lanes, never drive faster than sixty five, and never pass anybody. I'll be driving like a fargin' Iowajin!

Well there's no point grousing about it now. I should just accept my fate and live with it. But I can't help but thinking, what if I had only...