The Speeding Ticket

[marc at getty.net (Marc Getty)]

Damn you! The last time I was on I-70 in Licking County, Ohio I got a
$275.00 ticket for doing 100 in a 65! No mandatory appearance thank
goodness.

Actually I've been a very good boy since then, I've only been pulled
over once since Cincy 2003! And that was driving Sara's Toyota across
Lake Champlain while pulling Anson and Rich Deede on sleds behind me.
Did I mention the VT cops were on snowmobiles? This was just too much
for a non-Vermonter like me to handle!

-Marc


-----Original Message-----
From: scirocco-l-bounces@scirocco.org
[mailto:scirocco-l-bounces@scirocco.org] On Behalf Of Anson Clement
Sent: Monday, March 22, 2004 5:52 PM
To: scirocco-l@scirocco.org
Subject: The Speeding Ticket



The Speeding Ticket

 

 

A Monday in mid March can be many things, in Ohio such a day is
usually rather shitty. The Monday I'm about to tell you about was
balmy-ish, uneventful, with just a hint of boring. I was tooling home
from my last job of the day, my 8V Scirocco was running well for a car
that's been beaten like a two dollar Mexican whore and I was feeling
good. 

I-70 between Zanesville and Columbus is a lonely rolling stretch of
highway, sections of which dip through mile and a half long valleys.
It was at the lip of just such a hollow that the ever present urge to
crush the loud pedal snuck up on me, bludgeoned my better judgment,
and had it's way. 

The 8V surged forward with all the power and grace of a dead ostrich,
the new engine eschewed a wonderful symphony of rattles and clanks as
the tach needle wavered past 5k. My brakes sent a wobbling complaint
through the pedal and into my suddenly heavy right foot, I saw him,
but far too late. The cruiser angled, door ajar, one boot on the
ground, laser gun to eye. I swept by him at a suddenly attained 65,
the baleful glare told all I was well and truly fucked.

As the beater struggled up the far side of the valley my eyes locked
on the rearview, mind scrabbling desperately for a plausible lie. My
speedo cable was in fact broken but the fact that I was passing other
cars like a supermodel in a buffet line might have cast doubt on the
legitimacy of such a claim. I could say something about a stuck
throttle but my complete lack of breasts might make the officer
disinclined to let me off on such a tall one. One twenty in a sixty
five was certainly a mandatory court appearance, no wait, this is
Ohio, more like mandatory castration!

I had now reached the other side of the valley of the shadow of death,
still no flashing lights, no speeding grey shape looming in my
rearview. Twenty minutes later and still no pork, the elation washed
over me, the smell of sweet reprieve almost covering the pungent odors
emanating from my now soggy crotch.

 

 


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