So there I was, trying to get to a client around 35 miles from my office at 9:45am. I have a choice of highways to take; one the more direct route but with stop lights, or the other round about way with no lights. I opt for the direct route, and no sooner do I take the ramp when I see traffic backup up for MILES! No, really. Did I mention that once you commit to the "direct" route there are no exits, and they are working on the bridge and have it choked down to one lane and people are driving like they have been recently lobotomized? So I wait the nearly 1/2 hour to get through to where it open up to 2 lanes again. I needed to make up some time! Can you tell what happens next?

I get an opening, shift into 2nd and poke the nitrous button. Cars seem to know I'm coming at speed so they give me the left lane–all to myself. I pass 3 cars and have open road ahead, and I'm at the top of 4th gear. Can you tell what happens next?

I go over a big sweeping bridge, well into 3-digit land, when I notice a seemingly unobtrusive car sitting in the ditch up ahead about 1/3 mile. I have a well honed internal radar that senses potential danger, and it tells me to use the middle pedal and quickly. No sooner than I start backing off and applying some brake than the old trusty Valentine 1 starts playing it's happy little "laser" tune. "Shit." I say. I'm still going WAY too fast to pass muster with my new found friend, but I stay on the binders until I'm going 60 and cruise on by him without looking at him. Can you tell what happens next? (OK, I'll stop that.)

Well he does the turn-around but I've got a little traffic behind me. I make the light about a mile away just as it turns, but he flips on the old lights and goes around the traffic to keep coming my way. "Damn! I'm in a tight spot!", gets muttered under my breath. I take this opportunity to detach and stow the V1 in the glove box in case this guy doesn't appreciate modern technology.

He gets in behind me and gives me the lights and siren treatment, it's so embarrassing. After we get stopped (car off, window down, keys out of ignition in plain view, hands on steering wheel in plain view) he comes up and asks if I know how fast I was going on the bridge. I said I hadn't really looked at my speed during that period, but maybe "60ish". He mentions the cars that I passed so quickly and says "how about 100ish". He then says that he didn't get a laser lock on me and I don't have a front license plate. I cough up my insurance and license and he goes off to do his thing. At this point I'm doing the secret happy dance knowing that without the actual speed number, it's pretty tough to write me up.

He comes back with a ticket in his hand–for no front license plate. He tells me "Think of this as the cheapest speeding ticket you ever got." The secret happy dance continues. He says "80, 90, 100 are no problem if your alone on the road, but when others are around it's dangerous. We want traffic to all go the same speed."

"I understand, cool, thank you officer." Good attitude! We part as friends and both continue down the road. I drive nice and end up 15 minutes late to my client.

The moral of this story? I was going too fast. Through luck and not having a front plate, I didn't get caught. The cat and mouse game continues with the cat knowing that I got the cheese, but not sticking his finger down my throat to get it back. Chalk one for the mouse, and thank you Mr. Cat. I'll drive like a good little boy for a while now, and stick to my own friggin' rule of "Only go fast when it's safe to do so." Man that was close!

And so it goes...

NOTE: All accounts contained on this page are wholly fictional and therefore can not be used as admission of guilt of any crime.