Then Bob and the officer had a nice little chat. Bob was asked for his
license and registration. Registration? Are you kidding me? Then there
was a
lengthy discussion of who we were and why the f... we were driving
a car
designed for over 200 mph at LeMans on the street. I didn't get
all of Bob's
explanation, but what I heard of it, it was total B.S. And
then, the officer
asks for my driver's license. WTF? What did I do? As
far as I know, there is
no statute in MA or CT entitled "Felony Riding
in a Racecar on a Public Way"
I was perfectly fine with Bob being led
off in cuffs. He[[, it was his car
and he was having the joy of driving
it where it had no business being. But
now this was serious. No way am I
going to some one-cell, one-cot hooseqow
without a fight. "Excuse me
officer," says I, "you're more than welcome to
see my license, but can
you tell me why?" "BECAUSE YOU'RE DRIVING THE CAR!"
he said in a tone
that made it perfectly clear that I must have been the
stupidist bastid
in the stupidist car that ever put one tire into his
jurisdiction.
"Actually, I'm not," I calmly said while I pointed out to this bastion
of the law, highly trained in powers of observation, the steering wheel
in
front of old Bob, whom he had just been conversing with for about
twenty
minutes. Whoosh! It was as if the Michelin Man had just stepped
on a pack of
carpet tacks. I don't know if it was embarrassment,
exasperation or just a
cat being tired of playing with a mouse, but the
officer handed Bob back his
license, saying, "Maybe you shouldn't be
driving this car on the street" and
let us go without even a warning.
Maybe we shouldn't have, but it was one
he[[ of a good time and one
great story.
Rick
Follow My Nasty Boy Build: http://tinyurl.com/yj52fwo
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