Thursday, August 1, 2013

I Can't Drive 55

We were making good time on our way to see Cheryl Strayed speak. I was more worried about finding the location of the presentation because it was on the campus of Ashland University. I didn’t know how far away we’d have to park from the presentation site. Since it was summer there wouldn’t be many people on campus to ask about direction and I was afraid of getting lost in a maze of similar looking buildings.

Less than 30 minutes from Ashland, I was driving down highway 60 on a clear afternoon with wide open farmland in all directions and very little traffic. The speed limit was 55 and I was more than comfortable driving 65ish. Nothing could make us late now.

I looked at the GPS and we were now only 22 miles away and when I brought my eyes back to looking ahead, my stomach turned upside down. There he was, a county sheriff heading in my direction from around a rare bend on this rural road. My 65ish was really 70ish or maybe even 72mph. Before I could take the customary deep breath and acknowledge that sinking feeling, his lights were on and he was making a quick u-turn as I went by.

This would be the first time I was ever pulled over with Kellisa in the car. I didn’t slow down since that would be an admission of guilt. The sheriff quickly caught up and I was still hoping he was responding to a call and would zip right around us, but he never passed. Hoping it would hold our weight, I pulled over on the gravel shoulder. I was kicking myself for speeding. There was no way we’d make the 7pm start time.

I sat there waiting, wishing we could just get this over with as quickly as possible when the sheriff requested that I put the car in park over his loud speaker. I guess in my nervousness, I kept my foot on the break. Maybe he thought I would speed away once he was out of his patrol car. The thought never crossed my mind.

He slowly approached the car and asked if I knew why he pulled me over. I knew I was caught, so I went with honesty, “speeding”. He asked why I was speeding and I proceeded to explain about the presentation and how I really didn’t want to be late.

He then asked for my license, registration and proof of insurance. I explained that I was driving a rental car as I handed him my agreement. He said I still needed proof of insurance in Ohio. I pulled a tattered old insurance card out of my wallet from 2009. I explained that I still used the same company, nothing had changed and this was all I had. As he was looking at the old piece of paper, I removed my driver’s license. He was looking at me and firmly asked why I had two picture IDs as he took a step back. He seemed a little on edge as a hand went down out of my sight.

With my heart pumping too fast, I quickly looked down and realized the cause of his concern. Behind my license was Kellisa’s State of Florida Identification Card with her picture. I pulled this out and explained that it was my disabled daughter’s while I rolled down her back window. Up until this point, I don’t think he realized she was in the back seat. He took my license back to his car. While I waited my fate, I was trying to figure out the fine, hoping for under $400.

After seven long minutes (I was hoping there was nothing on my record that would create additional interest), he returned to my car and handed over a yellow piece of paper. Before I could read anything, he explained that he was just giving me a warning. As I thanked him, he told me to “slow it down to 55, it will drop down to 45 in a few miles”. I was both relieved and thankful as I put the car back in drive and started back down the almost lonely road to Ashland.



Who says, “getting there is half the fun”?


No comments:

Post a Comment