I have to drive about 35 miles to my part time job at the
pawn shop each morning I work. I can usually make it in
50 minutes or so, even in worse than normal traffic. The first
15-18 miles are two lane roads, typical of the Georgia landscape.
This morning, about one-fourth mile before the road widens
into a three-lane affair, with an eastbound passing lane, a pickup
pulled out in front of me, causing me to have to stand on my
brakes pretty heavily. Not a full-fledged panic stop, but enough
to scatter various items on the truck seat all over the floor and
slop coffee out of my cup. I was running probably a tad over
60 mph. The limit is 55, and I try not to get up to 10 mph
over. Needless to say, the pickup settled to about a 50-55 mph
cruise. I stayed about a truck-length behind him, waiting for
the road to widen. When I got to the passing lane, I accelerated
rapidly. Of course, he chose that time to speed up, like they
always do. I was determined to get around him, so I kept
accelerating. As I got along side him, I met a Georgia State Trooper,
whose blues immediately started flashing.
Oh ****.
I watched in the mirror, hoping that maybe he was after someone
headed west, but I knew better. I stayed at about 60 until he
was behind me, and I pulled over.
"I need to see your license."
"Yes Sir."
"Mr. Harris, I clocked you at 80 mph."
"Yes Sir. I was pissed off. That truck pulled out in front of
me about a half mile back and made me stand on my brakes.
Then, I used very poor judgement."
"I'm glad to hear you say that instead of making me have to
tell you. Eighty miles per hour is just going to get you a ticket,
and make him madder at you. I need for you to slow down
and get where you are going safely."
He handed me my license. I said, "Yes Sir. Thank you."
He walked back to his car, and I drove on to work.
pawn shop each morning I work. I can usually make it in
50 minutes or so, even in worse than normal traffic. The first
15-18 miles are two lane roads, typical of the Georgia landscape.
This morning, about one-fourth mile before the road widens
into a three-lane affair, with an eastbound passing lane, a pickup
pulled out in front of me, causing me to have to stand on my
brakes pretty heavily. Not a full-fledged panic stop, but enough
to scatter various items on the truck seat all over the floor and
slop coffee out of my cup. I was running probably a tad over
60 mph. The limit is 55, and I try not to get up to 10 mph
over. Needless to say, the pickup settled to about a 50-55 mph
cruise. I stayed about a truck-length behind him, waiting for
the road to widen. When I got to the passing lane, I accelerated
rapidly. Of course, he chose that time to speed up, like they
always do. I was determined to get around him, so I kept
accelerating. As I got along side him, I met a Georgia State Trooper,
whose blues immediately started flashing.
Oh ****.
I watched in the mirror, hoping that maybe he was after someone
headed west, but I knew better. I stayed at about 60 until he
was behind me, and I pulled over.
"I need to see your license."
"Yes Sir."
"Mr. Harris, I clocked you at 80 mph."
"Yes Sir. I was pissed off. That truck pulled out in front of
me about a half mile back and made me stand on my brakes.
Then, I used very poor judgement."
"I'm glad to hear you say that instead of making me have to
tell you. Eighty miles per hour is just going to get you a ticket,
and make him madder at you. I need for you to slow down
and get where you are going safely."
He handed me my license. I said, "Yes Sir. Thank you."
He walked back to his car, and I drove on to work.