By on December 28, 2010

TTAC will slow down for a hot minute as your humble editor makes his way to the County courthouse to pay a speeding ticket. And no, to those who might be wondering, this particular citation was not the result of some M-Coupe lunacy. I simply got busted doing 65 MPH while passing someone on a mountain highway that had briefly dropped to 45 MPH (while going through an alleged “town”)… and I was driving a Subaru Impreza 2.5. In short, there was nothing cool, fun, exciting or worthwhile about this particular transgression against the laws of speed. So I ask you, cheer me up with your wild stories of crazy speeding ticket-related encounters… remind this poor confused kid that speeding can be indeed be more than simply mundane.

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81 Comments on “Ask The Best And Brightest: Tell Us About Your Most Memorable Speeding Ticket?...”

  • avatar

    I don’t know whether this will cheer you up or tick you off, but…
    Christmas day 1987; Driving the interstate in a 1985 Caravan. I watched a trooper pull into the median, and turn on his blues. I looked all over my car wondering what was up, as I saw no other cars nearby. 56 mph in a 65 zone, lights on in drizzly weather. Maybe he is waiting for me to pass so he can chase someone else. NOPE! “I just timed you at 78 mph!! I said “This car won’t go that fast uphill.” Oh yes it will”, he said. I asked to see his radar, but he said he hadn’t locked it. I decided to take that one to court, where the cop told an amazing story of watching my approach, car swaying with excess speed. I told my side, and the judge sided with the cop (surprise!). I paid my fine, and, returning home through the scene of the “crime”, I sped up to 78, so that, at least I finally did that with which I had been charged.
    Later, another judge told me he would have thrown that case right out due to the lack of radar evidence. Wish he’d been on the bench instead.
    Bored cop, pissed that he had to work on Christmas, I guess.

    • 0 avatar

      I was once nabbed by a cop just after I’d made a right turn onto the street where, maybe 50 yards up, said cop was finishing up ticketing another driver in front of an ice cream shop I was headed to with my date. As soon as the driver being ticketed left, the cop waved me over, claiming that I’d made a right on red. I took it to the magistrate, with photos, etc., and I was let off.

  • avatar

    This one is memorable, only for the stupidity of the officer issuing it.  Coming down a hill in Lawrence, KS, I was ticketed for doing 35 in a 25.  Except that on my side of the road (downhill), I was still in a 35 MPH zone.  The signs for the change from 25 to 35 were about 100 yards apart depending on whether it was uphill or down.  The cop sat next to the sign on the uphill side of the road and refused to listen when I said I wasn’t past the 25 MPH sign on my side.  The Judge, fortunately, agreed with me, and I brought the photos to prove it.  I had been ticketed for going exactly 35 in a 35.

  • avatar

    ’06,  backside of the Great River Road in Illinois. Dicing it out with another motorcyclist on a long straight, I wouldnt let up. Passed a cop going the other direction at an indicated 143 mph. 3 minutes later, I see the gumballs in my rearview mirror, thought..”Gee, somebody’s getting stopped.”  2 minutes later, I’m off the bike, polite as Eddie Haskell in “Leave it to Beaver”. The officer explained both of our situations, then admired my bike(2000 Kawasaki ZRX1100). He let me off with a ticket at 73 mph, which cost me all of $150 with NO POINTS ON MY LICENSE. Funny..the next day I had carwork that paid..$150.Go figure!

  • avatar

    I don’t have one, but my dad got a pretty gnarly ticket for drag racing an unmarked cop at 2am in his 2002 V6 accord. I think the cop toned the ticket way down because my dad was wearing his nurse scrubs at the time and was on his way back from the hospital. This was not the only crazy ticket he got even that year. I know he was doing some community service to keep his license at one point.
    That accord looked pretty mundane to me, but he drove that thing like he just stole it from the Ferrari dealership.

  • avatar

    The first speeding ticket I’ve ever recieved (one of two – knock on wood) was in 2002. I was traveling from Houston to Salt Lake City. About 12 miles to the New Mexico border on US-287, doing an even 80mph (75mph zone) in my 1990 Integra. Texas DPS Camaro Z28 turns on the lights and pulls me over, officer had the 10 gallon hat.

    Asked me why I was going so fast, and I gave him a smart ass answer about getting to Utah on time and trying to keep up with trucks. Asked me if I saw him, said no…was he behind a tree? West Texas has as many trees as the Sahara desert. Wrote me a ticket for 5 over, and said it was a flat $100 fine (!).  As a side note, I recieved a ticket for 10 over in Boise…I increased my speed before the speed limit increased from 30mph to 40mph. It was $36.

    I called the judge the next day (while in beautiful Tucumcari, New Mexico) and tried to defer…she said the county was too poor to let me off the hook.

    The irony of it all was that I was listening to a Texas Country station out of Abeline, and a song by was on just a little bit earlier by Cooder Graw with the lyrics “ole’ 287 ain’t never been a free ride”. No doubt.

  • avatar

    I got “Reckless Speeding in Excess of 90MPH” when I was 16.  I don’t think that particular crime exists in this state anymore as the speed for reckless has come down even as the max legal speed has gone up.  I topped out my parent’s 4DSC, indicated 145.  The (female motorcycle) cop didn’t know how fast I was actually going but testified that she “Sped up to 100 mph and he was still pulling away from me.”  If I had known she was back there I could have gotten away.  I just topped it out, drifted back down to legal speeds and then a couple miles later she caught up.  The court date was my 17th birthday.   Surprisingly I wasn’t arrested on the spot and did not lose my license.

  • avatar

    It was in June of 1986.  I owned a 1985 Ford EXP with a 5-speed at the time and my antics behind the wheel in the town I grew up in was the stuff of infamy.  The only reason I still had a license after almost a dozen tickets is I was working second shift at the DMV doing data entry for all things vehicle registration related, including entering suspensions.  My various speeding adventures simply never made it into the computers.
    My previous ticket resulted in a visit from the town police chief, a small town of just 4,000 in rural Massachusetts.  I was told in no uncertain terms, if I were to do something as minor as not signal for a lane change, and one of the town officers sees it, I’m going to jail.  To quote a Looney Tunes cartoon with Bugsy and Mugsy, it was close to the lines of, “I don’t know how you dooed it but I know you dooed it!”
    So there it was a bright, warm, sunny day in June of 1986.  My plan was simple that early morning.  I had a DJ gig in the morning (the cavernous hatch of the EXP was great for hauling equipment) and after that I was going to drive to New Hampshire to pickup my girlfriend and then head back home to drop off my equipment, go hang in Boston, and then bring her back home.  Simple, it not an extensive day of driving in an era where gasoline was around 90 cents a gallon and my car got 45 MPG if I played nice (which was basically never)
    I was about twenty mjnutes into my drive and about 10 minutes away from where the gig was when I had a horrible realization.  I had left my wallet at home.  Stopped the car and pondered my situation; decided that if I was fast, I would have enough time to dash home, get my wallet, dash back and scramble to get my equipment setup in time; hey, I can do setup in 30 minutes not 90 – no problem.
    So I start driving back; and as I enter my town I decide to take the back back back way to my house.  As I turn onto a street, of which name I can’t remember I think to myself, I have NEVER, EVER, seen my town’s finest on this road, time to open it up, as much as an EXP can be opened up.  Along that road is a four-way stop sign and in one of my least proudest automotive moments I made the decision to run the rural sign.  I could see there were no cars at the intersection and just rolled through.  But what I didn’t know…
    Now emboldened and close to home I start flying on this rural, frost heaved strip of narrow blacktop through the Massachusetts woods.  Posted 25 MPH and I’m going 60 to 70 MPH, doing my best Colin McRae imitation, my gear sliding around in the back of the EXP, but thankfully speakers and amps helping solve the stock 68%/32% front/rear weight ratio of one of Ford’s deadly sins.
    As I rounded a pond where you cross a short bridge into a left hander followed by a right hander horror went through my system.  Here was angry Ford Panther platform all lit up in blue and red rounding the left hander and going almost 90 degrees sideways in a power slide in an attempt to catch up.  There is no doubt about it; this guy is after me.
    I round a right hander and come to an immediate stop.  I’ve been warned but don’t forget, I have no wallet!  That means I have no license on me.  This is going from bad to worse.  I’m out of the car.  All I can say is, “oh shit,” over and over again.  Angry lit up Panther platform arrives about five seconds later.
    Officer gets out of his car, orders me back into my car, I look at him and say, “oh shit,” orders me back into car.
    He walks up to my car, I look up at him…I don’t recognize his face.  Could it be, did my town hire a rookie cop?  Did this guy not get the memo so to speak?  “Oh shit,” is once again the only words that are coming out of my mouth.
    “License and registration please,” as I sit there smelling strained 185/80R13 bicycle tires and abused clutch.
    So I explain the whole story; left my license at home, was going to work, now late for work, racing back to get wallet, it was very early in the morning on an untraveled street, very sorry, won’t do it again.
    “Do you know your driver’s license number.”
    Now C.O.P.S. wasn’t on TV yet but I knew at this point lying wasn’t going to help me.  “Yes officer.”
    So I give him my number and then I learn where he started pursuing me.  All the way back at the four way stop sign, about two miles back.  Saw me blow right through it and then spent the next two miles playing catch up with me.  Of course he is going to radio my license in.  I’M GOING TO JAIL!!!
    He comes back.  He has a ticket for me to sign.  He has taken pity on me and my story of wallets and late for work.  But he says, “I just can’t let the speeding go, it was too gross.”
    So he hands me a ticket for 50 in a 25, just 1 MPH below reckless driving and lets the stop sign go.
    You mean, I’m not going to jail…
    I drive like a grandmother to my house and then drive like a grandmother until I got out of town.  To this day I wonder how badly that rookie got reamed out for letting me go.
    The ticket?  Well of course I didn’t pay for it; the computers took care of that.

  • avatar

    I was ticketed for speeding on my motorcycle ~behind~ a NJ state trooper.
    Rt 35N Monmouth County in Wall NJ late 1980s two troopers on median running opposite radars. I ride by on my motorcycle and then one comes flying by without blue lights on. I figure “high speed donuts run.” and wick it up to follow him. He finally lit up for the car in front of him and then turned around in his seat and pointed to me and the side of the road. The other trooper pulled up to ticket the car as the pursuit trooper read me the riot act about reckless driving, interfering with an officer, etc. He didn’t want to hear it about him running 80mph without blue lights on. He gave me a ticket for 69 mph in a 55mph zone which kept me off the reckless level of speeding.
    Gosh, I was stupid.

  • avatar

    I still have a copy of the ticket as this was my first and only ticket.  Picture this, it was 1997, I was 25 years old.  I was driving (I had hair to my shoulders) and the passenger was shaved bald.  We were travelling in my 1992 Sentra SE-R through the wonderful state of Montana, where the speed limit was reasonable and prudent.  We were in the flats somewhere east of Billings, where we were travelling in excess of 110 mph.  We were flashing our lights to have people in the left lane move over, which they did very politely.  Then a highway patrol car pulls us over.  The cop could not have been more than 19 or 20 years old.  He approaches with his gun the holster and asks the passenger to leave the vehicle and then proceeds to question on where we are going, what we are doing in Montana, etc.  He questions us separately (we were heading to our friend’s wedding at a ranch in eastern Montana).  He gets our stories confused and continues to question us for about 30 minutes.  Finally after he realizes he is confused and gets the story straight in his mind, he writes us a ticket for 112 mph for $320 cash!  Luckily we had that much cash (just barely!) or we would have been put into the clink over the weekend (at least that what he said).  I ask him what is “reasonable and prudent” in Montana.  He said 80 or 85 mph.  I told him why don’t you post it if that is the speed limit.  He looks at me like I am a wiseass, which I was at 25. 

    • 0 avatar
      Thomas Kent

      Just remember that if you ever visit Montana again, the speed limit is now 75 on the Interstates ( 65 within city limits) and 70! (on roads originally designed for 45mph limits!) on the two lane state/county highways.

      Unless you’re Canadian, who drive 80, 90, 100 with seeming impunity!

  • avatar

    In 1998, I was driving a friends Cherokee, leading a Bronco through some one horse town in Vermont (I think).  Both vehicles were filled with newly minted Naval officers and we were heading to a camping trip over the weekend to get away from the stress of training.  The speed limit dropped to 25 and I barely slowed down from the 45 that the road had been for the past several miles.  Officer Smedley (no, I’m not making that up…I’ve still got my copy of the ticket somewhere) came up and was very perplexed how I, on a North Carolina license with a Rhode Island address, driving a car with Michigan plates could possibly be in his town at 1 AM.  He suggested the other car should rat me out when the ticket was served so they wouldn’t have to pay the fine and mine would increased for recklessness or some such nonsense.  When the $120 bill finally came from the state, the 6 of us in the car each put in our $20.  I haven’t been in Vermont since, except for the ride back home (refused to drive through the state).

  • avatar

    3 tickets so far (all in MI):
    1. 42 in a 35 zone: Thrown out as the cop didn’t show up in court
    2. 86 in a 70 zone on I-94W: Reduced by the cop to 5 over on a freeway (i.e no points, $150 fine)
    3. 65 in a 55 zone: Reduced by the cop to 5 over, eventually thrown out as the cop didn’t show up in court.
    Just for the record, I never pay my fine instantly when I get a ticket, always manage to get a court date, show up in some nice clothes, always worked for me so far.
    But also, I am a bit more mature, make sure not to do +5 on city streets and +10 on freeways. Never have a problem in MI with those rules.

  • avatar

    Not very wild and crazy, but . . .

    In the days of the 55 mph limit, I was driving on I90 through through the town of Cuba in upstate New York.  It was a sunny summer day and way back behind me there was one other car. I was driving 60 mph in my Saab 9000, and it felt like about 30. Then the lights went on in the car way back behind me, and the local revenue collector gave me a speeding ticket. 60! On a highway otherwide virtually abandoned! In broad daylight!

    Another time the missus and I were driving on Rt 17 through Horseshoe NY. We were in a rented Olds. They have a nifty gimmick there where the limit is 65, then suddenly goes downhill into town and the speed limit drops to 25. I was radared at 70 halfway down the hill. I explained to the collector that it was a rented car, my primary vehicle wouldn’t go 70 (fib) and, besides, my missus and I were singing along to Frank Sinatra on the tape deck (long while ago) and kinda lost track of the speed limit.  He was a nice Italian boy and just cited me for driving too fast for conditions.

    And last, I was driving on I90 in upstate NY on a summer day in my red Chevy convertible at 90 per, went through a radar set up and immediately started to slow down and pull over.  For whatever reason, the police just told me to keep it down if I didn’t want to attract attention. I think they’d just set up the radar and it wasn’t quite fully operational when I went through it.

    So I’ve been ticketed for nothin’ and gotten the benefit of the doubt when caught red handed. I think it must depend on the deportment of  the previous guy the cop dealt with. So do thy neighbor a favor and act polite and respectful when stopped.  Most of them are just doing their jobs. 

  • avatar

    Winter 1995. First semester in college and was headed across the border into Missouri to visit a girlfriend. It’s true what they say about long distance relationships, but I digress, it was daybreak on a nearly deserted stretch of US54 east of Wichita, headed towards Springfield.

    I was in a POS 1988 Pontiac Grand Prix. 2.8L of Detroit failure under the hood. As I was closing on the ramshackle town of Eureka, KS, the orange glow of the digital dash gave way to the first rays of sunlight cresting the horizon. Rounding a bend, I was presented a glorious stretch of downhill blacktop that seemed to stretch for a mile before making its way back up to the rising sun. What better place to see if I could get that LED numeral ‘1’ to illuminate to the left of the other two? Still in 5th gear, I floored it.

    An eternity passed. 75… 85… 95… 96… 97… 98… 99… 100MPH! I did it!

    Then the radar detector lost its shit all over the dash. I slammed on the brakes, the slovenly W-body shrugged in all its substandard braking system glory without locking a single tire, and I pulled over directly across the street from the sheriff’s deputy, who had been just been waiting for me in the shadows. Since he didn’t have to chase me down, I got off with a lecture and the pinch for 97 in a 55. This was ticket #3 for me in a single year.

    Despite stopping for a drink in Eureka, still shaking from the adrenaline rush, and being stuck behind Granny Bluehair in her goddamned K-car doing 56 in the 55 out of town, I began to sweat as I noticed another deputy behind me on the other side of town.

    I slowed to 55mph. I watched the radar detector. I prayed.

    To no avail. Lights, siren, angry hand gesture to pull over in my rearview mirror. When asked why I was in such a hurry, I handed over my license, soon-to-be-canceled insurance, and still smoking 97 in a 55 ticket. Then I explained there was no way in hell I’d be speeding any time soon, we had both been stuck behind grandma doing 56mph since I pulled out of the gas station, and how did he arrive at my doing 80mph in a 55? He said he timed me. A mile in 45 seconds. How convenient. Ticket #4 in a single year. Mandatory license suspension in Kansas. I was hosed.

    Total fines and court costs for both came to $255 and change. (Less than a 11-over photo radar ticket these days.) Second deputy collected my fines, but did not report the ticket to the state, apparently, as all I got was the “One more and you walk” letter a month later. State Farm dropped me, and the girl in Missouri didn’t even put out.

    Haven’t had a ticket since, though. Growing up is hard.

  • avatar
    Felis Concolor

    Damnit, it wasn’t a speeding ticket, although I definitely deserved it.

    I had recently put a mild 1,500 miles on my turbocharged Omni GLH as part of my overly cautious break in period, and had installed the MOPAR high boost logic module to add another 18-20 horses from the original 146. While heading from Kahului to Kihei, and hitting the Mokulele highway, I saw the then-new face of the 5.0 pursuit Mustang in my rear view mirror, lights flashing. The insane freak inside me said, “@#% that, it’s your first ticket in this car; make it a memorable one” and I downshifted into 2nd and floored it, blasting up through the gears until I had topped out around 135 in 5th (estimated: the speedo markings stopped at 85 but the needle had wrapped around to peg against the 0 pin on the return circuit). The Mustang had rapidly dwindled to a speck during that charge and it took a couple minutes to catch up to me. I had pulled over short of the Piilani intersection to await my fate and was confronted with a fuming police officer who was significantly shorter than me; apparently the roll cage installed in the Mustang forced all drivers to be shorter than 5’10” in order to safely clear the structure. I was wondering just what sort of jail time I would be facing, and how I would deal with being locked up, when the following conversation ensued.

    “Okay, what the @#$% did you do to this car?”

    “Um, nothing; it’s stock.”

    “No way that’s a stock car.”

    “Honestly, this is how it came from the factory.”

    “Open the hood.”

    I reached in through the open window and popped the hood latch mechanism, then lifted and propped up the hood, stepping back so the officer could make his own observation. The diesel-like tapping from the water cooled Garrett T03 turbocharger was underscored by the beefy cast aluminum factory valve cover with the words “Chrysler TURBO” covering most of the top surface. Even in the afternoon light, you could still see a red glow bouncing off the aluminum heat shield on the firewall next to the super heated exhaust housing.

    After what felt like a minute of his examining the now roughly idling engine (Chrysler 2.2 turbos all had that endemic idle stumble), he straightened up, turned to face me and said, “go.”

    “Um, I can go?”

    “Get the @#%& out of here and don’t ever let me catch you again; I’ll make sure you lose your car.”

    “Okay. Thank you. Very much.”

    And he never did catch me after that.

  • avatar

    Sometime in the late 90s. It’s early evening, and I’m driving a Suzuki Sidekick convertible, and going up a long fairly steep freeway grade in the #1 lane, at 70-75mph. That puts me right in the fat part of the torque curve, and I’m -really- loathe to lift out, because that means downshifting to third and slogging up the rest of the hill. Approaching a road boulder Acura Vigor, I delay lifting off as late as possible, because I’m (see above). I think I was about a car length back when I finally gave up and lifted. I drop to third, manuver around, cross the bridge, cross through the city, and continue on my way. Just another momentary driving frustration? Not so much.

    Fully an hour later, I’m cruising in the #2 lane in light traffic, and I suddenly have a set of headlights crowding my back bumper (it’s now fully dark). I lift off slightly, hoping he’ll wake up and go around. Nothing. I accelerate 10 mph, hoping to pull some distance. Headlights stay with me. I nail the brakes hard enough to force a response, and the other car dives to the right (oy) and passes. It’s the same damned Acura Vigor. Fine, you’re in front of me now, whatever. I slow down to get some separation. He slows with me. I accelerate back to my original speed, he accelerates with me. Fine. I think to myself “let’s see if we can get you a ticket. How fast are you willing to go to prevent me from passing?”, and put my foot on the floor. Pretty soon we’re merrily flying down the freeway just under 100 (I did mention it’s a Suzuki Sidekick, yes? I’m maxed out.) We catch a pack of traffic, and both work our way over to the #1 lane (miraculously vacant) to pass through it. Being smarter than the average bear, I start intently watching my mirrors at this point, and sure enough, there’s a set of headlights in the #4 lane accelerating -hard- to come join the party. I immediately lift off, drop back to about 65, and move to the #2 lane. The CHP passes on my right, crosses in front of me, and zips off after the Acura still doing 90+ in the #1 lane.

    I was sorely tempted to wind down the window and wave as I went by, but in a rare instance of good sense, decided that there was nothing to be gained by potentially attracting the cop’s attention back to me. I spent the remaining 45 minutes of my trip giggling to myself.

  • avatar

    In 1984, I spent a couple months in the Shenandoah Valley area of Virginia on a project. I drove up there from Florida in my Honda CRX 1.5 which I had gotten six months earlier. The roads in the vicinity were wonderful for zipping around in a tiny, great-handling car like the Honda. One Sunday morning I was driving up to Washington DC on the Skyline Drive (Blue Ridge Parkway) around 6 AM. I was just about the only car on the road, so I cut loose and was ripping along at 60 to 70 mph, about twice the limit. Glorious! – that is, until I saw the flashing lights behind me. I was pulled over by a Virginia state trooper. The big, grizzled, middle-aged cop looked at me (I was trying to act contrite), then at the tiny blue car, then back at me. Taking off his shades, he leaned forward and said “Son, I know you’re having fun out here but cut it out!” He then walked backed to his cruiser, got in, and drove off. I nearly fainted with relief.

  • avatar

    September this year.  50 in a 45…in front of a brothel.  Paid $72 total with 2/3 going to fees.  Breakdown as:$25 bail, $30 admin fee, $10 facility fee, $7 fee (for a fee?).
    Within 3 min of ticketing me, he had a white minivan pulled over.

  • avatar

    I was going under a bridge on I-88 in Illinois with my 1983 Supra circa 1990 with the 85mph speedometer buried.  My radar detector lights up like a Christmas tree.  I jam my brakes on and lock up all 4 wheels.  I do a tire smoking slide by the officer on the other side of the bridge.  I just pulled over, rolled my window down, and held my license up for the trooper.  As he approaches the window, he takes a deep breath as if to say something, but just shakes his head and takes my license instead.
    When he came back he told me he had knocked it down to 20 over so I wouldn’t have to have the car impounded.  So, all in all, I guess I got off light.  I think the ticket was $150ish dollars.

  • avatar

    This didn’t happen to me but it did happen to a classmate of mine in law school.
    I had the privilege of taking criminal procedure with one of the most gifted constitutional lawyers in the state. He made a name for himself after he won a case against the state police for illegally pulling over his black client and beating and taunted him.  My professor had this bit of advice for our class if a police officer should ever pull you over and ask to search your vehicle:
    “If you ever get pulled over and the police ask to search your vehicle, you ask them, ‘Officer, are you asking or telling me to give up my right under the 4th Amendment to be free from unreasonable searches and seizures?’  And if you ever do that, let me know how that turns out.”
    A week or so later a classmate of mine took my professor’s advice when he got pulled over coming back to school after thanksgiving break and told the class what happened.  A State Police Officer pulled him over in his Jeep Cherokee for speeding.  The Officer gave him his ticket and asked if he wouldn’t mind if he searched his vehicle.  My classmate answered with the aforementioned line.  The Officer responded by ordering him out of the car and frisking him.  After the officer failed to find anything on his person the officer refused to let him get back in his car and insisted that he would call for a drug dog unless he let him search his vehicle.   My classmate told the officer to call the k-9 unit.  He spent 40 minutes out in the cold as five other police vehicles showed up along with the promised drug dog.  The drug dog didn’t find anything.   He got a lecture from the officer about how he wasted the officers’ time and tax payer’s money.

  • avatar

    Hmmm, fun to think about, in a perverse sorta way.  Lessee…

    a. 85 in a 35, early 20’s.  I’d just borrowed my buddy’s 1972 Kawa 500 Mach III, pulled off our street onto the residential main drag. A quick rip-rip-rip through most of three gears, then I managed to hear the siren over the expansion chambers.  I pulled over, dismounted, and saw that the officer was someone I knew, a frequent patron of the parts store where I worked.  He knew me too, told me the readout, to knock it off, and try not to get killed on his shift.  Whew.

    b. 95 in a 70, recently.  On our way to a family reunion in SD in our CX-7, we’d been on SD44 a few miles, just west of Parker, and a good hundred more to go.  Wanting to get in early enough for a shower, visiting, and in time for a good steak dinner, I’d stepped it up a notch to the point where I’d asked my lovely bride to take the V1 from the glove box.  It had just powered up, oddly spewing Ka-band alerting instead of it’s normal start-up tones, an anomaly explained by the Turner Co. deputy sheriff who passed us, opposite direction.  A check of the rear-view showed: brakes, u-turn, blues.  Oh yeah, time for a visit.  About 5-9 or so, the deputy probably weighed 115 lbs, but was indeed the real thing, and said he’d write me for 78 so he “wouldn’t have to take me in”.  I mailed a check, $100 or so IIRC. 

  • avatar
    Educator(of teachers)Dan

    Had three tickets in my life (amazing with the amount of speeding I’ve done and only having picked up a radar detector in the last 3 years.)  None of them worth talking about, and ironically two of them issued for going 85 in a 65 in two different states over 1000 miles and 8 years apart.  (Given that the other was issued for going 55 in a 35, 20 over seems to be my poison.)
    My only warning was for running a stop sign in a residential neighborhood (in Liepsic, OH on my way to my senior prom I was in a tux and everything.)  The “town” cop didn’t switch on his lights but simply followed me the 3 remaining miles to the Knights of Columbus Hall that had been rented for the event.  I had my good buddy Jeff (going stag) with me who didn’t spot him either till we got out of the car.  Jeff sprinted with the speed of a jackrabbit on a date into the hall, why the cop didn’t go after him I have no idea.  So there I am, parked in a legal spot, driving Dad’s Oldsmobile (polished and cleaned like showroom thank you, that was one of the conditions for me to take it out) and dressed to the nines.  The cop angled his Crown Vic to block me in (one of the early areo models, it was 1995 after all.)  I walked up to him and though we were in Ohio I swear to god the guy had a West Texas accent.
    Cop: “Been following you for about 3 miles, Boy.  What kinda stop was that back there?”
    Me: “A rolling one officer.”
    Cop: “That’s a residential neighborhood, there could have been kids playing out there, what would we have had then?”  (BTW sun was setting neighborhood was quiet.)
    Me: “A big mess officer.”  (I’m so damn lucky he didn’t pistol whip me right there.)
    He grunts and starts looking over the car looking for some problem to ticket me for.  (Thank god I didn’t let that jackass Jeff drag along the bottle of whiskey that he wanted to.)  While he looked over my car, I looked over his, eyeballing the dual exhausts, 140mph speedometer (he left the drivers door open), his very cool ceiling mount for his shotgun, and full “sombrero wheel covers.”
    He couldn’t find anything wrong and let me off with a warning.  I was one lucky little smart a$$.  I guess karmic-ly it was made up for by the cop who ticked my Grandmother for not “slowing down fast enough” as she came into the town of Payne, OH.  Obviously such a hot rodder driving her 4cyl Ford Tempo in baby blue.  To this day (20 yrs later) my grandmother refuses to drive or be driven through the town of Payne.

  • avatar

    30 years driving, no speeding ticket yet, knock on wood!


  • avatar

    Another Montana story. I was driving from Billings to Malta in a rent-a-taurus 5-6 years ago. This drive is pretty much 300 miles of pretty much nothing, just a couple wide spots in the road masquerading as towns. As I came into some low rolling hills, I backed off to 85-90mph from the Taurus’ mighty limited top speed of 107. As I came over one hill, a trooper whizzed past in the other direction. I saw the brake lights come on, so I just pulled over. Turned out to be a very nice older lady state trooper. Just as sweet as can be, was like getting a ticket from my Mom! And she was ALL apologetic because the speeding fines had just gone up – from $25 to $40! 88 in a 70 zone. Paid her on the spot and was on my way again. Would have been more like $400 here in Maine.

  • avatar

    I may owe my life to a speeding ticket.  About 1990, I drove to Long Beach, CA to meet friends for dinner after work.  That was my introduction to Long Island iced teas, and though I had heard they could sneak up on you, I wasn’t prepared for just how sneaky they can be.  Started driving home, and realized I had definitely overdone it.  Didn’t get 5 miles before I got pulled over.  I thought I was a dead man.
    My job at the time required me to wear a suit, and I guess I looked pretty straight-laced to the cop.  He  barely gave me a second look while  he wrote me up for doing 40 in a 35, then sent me on my way.  I’m not proud to say that wasn’t the first time I drove after having too much to drink, but it was the last.

  • avatar

    In Nov 2003 I went from NJ to SoCal in 36 hours, averaging about 85mph, maxing out the 1997 Volvo 855 T5 Wagon at 131 mph in AZ.  No cops the whole way.  But I needed to replace the rear main seal when I got to San Diego.
    This was the return trip.  March 2004 somewhere in Texas. Ticketd for 79 in a 65.  I was lucky as I’d just backed off from 95+.
    I was pulled over by an officer with my last name driving a Ford pickup the opposite direction .  The fine was $120, and authorities/insurance companies never heard about it. So far it is the one & only.  Knocking on wood right now!

  • avatar

    95 in a 50 (km/h) on a 6 lane “residential street”, going down a hill, late for work and trying to pass someone in the #1 lane, and a deliberate speed trap set where the 6 narrowed to 4 going up a hill. $258.

  • avatar

    The one time (hopefully the only time) I got a speeding ticket was when I was actually way ahead of schedule and was trying to stick to the speed limit or lower. I was driving down the freeway past the MOA (Mall of America) and I always get in the left lane there because people have difficulty merging in that area for some reason.

    Anyway, my exit was coming up and I was trying to get back in the right hand lane. Everybody in the lane I need is traveling 70 or better (in a 55 zone) so I can either slow down and get smoked by somebody behind me who isn’t paying attention (all too common) or I can ease the throttle forward and squeeze into the lane I need. I chose the later. Of course right as I get up to 75ish the officer puts the radar (or lidar) on me and pulls me over within 20 feet of my exit. He gave me a ticket, but said if I had no same or similar offenses within a year it would drop off. I’m not going to get sore at the officer since he did give me a break. He was even nice enough to drop it down to 65 in a 55 instead of 75 in a 55, which is great because 20 mph over the limit no matter the limit or anything in triple digits is considered reckless driving in my state.

  • avatar

    I received quite a few tickets during my college years as I was driving over 25,000 miles annually during my co-op periods.  I had so many tickets in 8 states that if they were ever sent back to my state of residence I would have lost my license.  All well deserved in a 1985 Nissan Sentra.

    My most memorable ticket?  Traveling east-bound on I-70 in Illinois, heading back to Purdue after spending a weekend with some friends in teh Quad Cities.  I crested a hill only to see 7 to 8 state troopers on the side of the road with 12+ cars pulled over.  Troopers would step out into the right lane, point at a car and signal them to pull over.  I was third in line for my particular trooper.

    As I waited 25 minutes for him to even walk up to my car, I was wondering how the hell he clocked me.  They were not in their cars, merely writing tickets.  Turns out I, like all of my speeding compatriots, were clocked by airplane.  Yes, you see the damn signs but figure they never really use the aircraft.  This was 18 years ago.  To this very day if I see such a sign (for instance, up I-5 in the San Joaquin Valley) I start scanning the sky.

  • avatar
    Mark MacInnis

    No ticket, but I deserved one.  Stop me if you’ve heard this….

    First car.  No one in their right mind should have let a 17 year old kid on the street with a 1970 Boss 302, which was just a barely street legal CanAm race car…

    First Friday night in April, 1976….first weekend with the car. First weekend of nice spring weather in Metro Detroit.

    Cruising down Jefferson in Wyandotte, Midnight-ish.  Not going anywhere particular.  First girlfriend looking amazingly beautiful, firmly in the passenger seat.  Best friend in the back.  In the trunk, a bucket of nicely iced Coors at the time when it was illegal to possess east of the Mississippi.  I am not terribly familiar with Wyandotte, having grown up in Allen Park.  But the breeze off the Detroit River is sublime and I am unconcerned about my surroundings.

    Another friend in a fairly hopped up 429 ’67 Merc pulls up at a stop light…words are exchanged, verbal gauntlets thrown down…he lights up the Merc.  I pull away, meekly, my father’s warnings about ‘drag racing that damned Mustang’ ringing in my ears.

    Next stop light.  Same gauntlet.  Same Mercury light-up….laughter and humiliation.  My father’s voice goes strangely dim.

    3rd stoplight, and I become  annoyed.  My dignity has been impugned.  Friend in the Merc taunts and challenges and questions my manhood.  Mustang is revved.  Clutch is popped.  Chaos ensues as 245 horses are let screaming out of the barn….I blow the Merc away, natch….as I am shifting into third several hundred yards down the road I look to my right and see…2 cops in a Wyandotte City Cruiser, sitting slack-jawed, holding styrofoam coffee cups.

    The reason they are slack-jawed is the very LAST thing they expect to see is a screaming blue Boss 302 fly by as they are parked….Ahem… In front of the Wyandotte police station.  Word of advice to young drivers…if you drag, don’t choose the road in front of a local police precinct.

    I immediately shut-down and pull over.  Well, that was nice, I say to myself.  I have had the Mustang all of 3 days and now it is likely, quite likely, in fact – gone.  Friend in Merc rabbits past as I shut down…figuring correctly that I would not rat him out, and since the cops are pulling ME over, he may as well be spared jail fime, fines and higher insurance payments.

    Cop #1, still slack-jawed, asks me, “Son.  Just what in the hell did you think YOU were doing.”  Cop #2 asks me to pop open the trunk, which, I do.  (At 17, it doesn’t OCCUR to me to NOT do that.)  He spies the Colorado Kool-aid and a few empties.  Jail beckons.

    Just then the Merc re-appears.  Driving IN REVERSE towards us back down Jefferson.  Conscience stricken, friend Mercury (his name is really Joe S.)  pulls up next to the cop.  Turns out the cop is a friend of his brother’s.  Explanations are given.  Sheepish apologies made.  Stern warnings administered.  Coors (regrettably!) ….confiscated.

    I start up and drive off….very slowly…with the adrenaline shakes still coursing through my body. 

    No ticket. 

    That time. 

    I managed to keep my license 6 entire months longer before me and the Boss racked up enough points on my license to keep her garaged for a season or two….(***sigh***)

    Good times.

  • avatar

    Let’s see….it was July 1992, I was on terminal military leave and was up in Wisconsin for the Brian Redman Challenge vintage races at Road America along with two friends. We were in my black ’89 Taurus SHO and were driving from our motel in Sheboygan to the track near Elkhart Lake. We’d taken a wrong turn on some back county roads, and were looking to make up some lost time. I was doing at least 70mph on a rural county highway when I crested a hill and my Escort detector went off. A county mountie nailed me cold with his instant on, so I just slowed down and pulled over on the shoulder of the highway. (Sorry to disappoint Baruth, but this was years before I read about his cop evasion tactics. Not that I’d attempt them anyway…)
    He pulled up behind us and sat there for a few minutes, probably waiting for the results from a database search of my Florida tag. He finally walked up to my car and asked for my license and registration, which were also Florida but with a Virginia address…you see, I was in the military and lived in Virginia, but was a Florida resident. I then told him that my actual address was in Nebraska, where I had moved to after recently leaving active duty.
    He had a puzzled look on his face, then asked if I realized my speed? I said I thought I was doing around 70 and just wasn’t paying much attention to my speed, and he said he had me at 74 mph and the speed limit on this road is 55mph. Then he walked back to his cruiser ostensibly to write me a ticket. I was already starting to feel my wallet lighten substantially.
    Well, after what seemed like an inordinate period of time he came ambling back to my car. Perhaps he’d just gotten a more important call or just didn’t want to bother with me that day, but this was to be my lucky day. It seems that between my Florida tags, Florida registration and drivers license with a Virginia address, but with my actual address in NE, his dispatcher (or whoever it was) couldn’t quite figure out who I was or where I was from.
    To my amazement, rather than haul me in to figure it out he let me off with a warning. 19mph over and I got off scot free.

  • avatar

    Ticketed recently at (officially) 65 in a 55 on Iowa 175, although state trooper said he actually clocked me at 71. The price for my inattention: $114.

    I have a penchant for exceeding the posted limit on that usally empty stretch of road and have eluded stops, somehow, for the three years I’ve lived in these parts, so I guess it was bound to happen. Probably my first ticket in 10 years — last one was in the early ’00s on a rural road in Idaho.

    I’m trying to do more to watch my speed now. Better late than never, I guess.

  • avatar

    After a stressful day at work a few years ago with a arrogant manager I couldn’t stand, I decided to ride my 2006 Racing Green Kawasaki ZX-6R the long way home to blow off some steam. Doing 87 MPH in a 35 seemed like a great idea. Until I passed a FL Sheriff headed the opposite direction.
    He promptly turned around (not easy to do on a narrow two-lane curbed street), at which point I knew I was to be pulled over. I have a rule: you can’t outrun a radio. So I slowed it down, put on my blinker, and by the time he had caught up I had all but pulled the bike over into the corner pharmacy.
    As I removed my helmet, a similarly aged (mid-twenties) Mr. Sheriff walked up:

    Sheriff: OK, wow. What the hell was that all about?

    Me: Officer, that was me being stupid. I shouldn’t have done that, and it’s been a terrible day. Not that that’s an excuse, sir.

    Sheriff: That was beyond stupid. Do you know how fast you were going?

    Me: Probably 80-85, sir (another lesson – honesty is ALWAYS the best policy)

    Sheriff: Yup, that’s about right. What the hell am I going to do with you?

    Me: Sir, I just appreciate that you slowed me down. Thank you sir.

    Sheriff: *Pause* Well, I’m glad you didn’t try to run.

    Me: No sir – I can’t outrun your radios.

    Sheriff: *Chuckles* Guess you’re right. Look, I’m going to let you go with a warning. And I don’t EVER want to see you on this road again.

    Me: *Disbelief* Thank you, Officer, very much.
    No kidding, I thought I was going to jail. Similar situation happened more recently doing 65 in a 50, same bike, same embarrassed, humbled attitude, got off with a warning. Being respectful & honest pays off!

    • 0 avatar

      Sometimes the right attitude, or the right motorcycle can get you off with a warning. Back in the early 90s in New York I got pulled over on my motorcycle on my way to work a few times and always got off. I think part of it was surprise that I had a l the right paperwork,  motorcycle endorsement, current insurance, registration and inspection, and the rest was that I was on a 12 year old BMW instead of a GSXR with a loud pipe.

  • avatar

    Most Memorable? No doubt about it.
    For about 8 years I drove like Mario Andretti.  I always drove a 5 speed and I always drove them hard. Until that last ticket….

    I got a ticket about 10am doing 74 in a 60mph zone. The reason it was so memorable is that at 4:30pm the day before… I got a ticket going 73 in a 60.

    The second cop asked for my license and I said “You’re not going to believe this” as I handed him the ticket from the day before.  He looked at the date and said “You didn’t learn your lesson huh?” to which I replied, “I have now.”

    And I did. I pretty much stopped the ‘stupid street driving’ that day.  Which was probably for the best, I never caused an accident but probably was going to kill someone sooner or later. (see my next comment for more on that)

    • 0 avatar

      “And I did. I pretty much stopped the ‘stupid street driving’ that day.  Which was probably for the best, I never caused an accident but probably was going to kill someone sooner or later. ”
      Describes me exactly. Its funny, my co workers used to call me Mario Andretti. I went through three sets of tires, two sets of brake pads and one transmission on a stock 2008 Civic SI over the course of 18,000 miles from new. I’m so much smarter now.

    • 0 avatar

      That’s what it took for me too. The first year I had my WRX, I drove like a bat out of hell everywhere I went. Then, after three speeding tickets within two months, I decided to tone it down a little. It’s just not worth it, you know?

    • 0 avatar

      It happens to the best of us…. Funny thing is I recently picked up a copy of “Speed Secrets” and while reading all the secrets of down shifting and corner etc, I came to the hysterical conclusion that I taught myself all that intuitively by the time I was about 19.  — If only I would have had a sponsor I coulda been a contender. lol

  • avatar

    OK since everyone shared their most memorable ticket they received… lemme tell you the most memorable I DIDN’T get.

    I was on I-10 in Florida and exited South on I-110 to head to the beach.
    I had just left a friend’s wedding reception and probably had more champagne in me than I should have. Not to mention the two girls in the car were also a bit loaded.

    For some reason my 23 year old brain decided that if I was Highway 110, I should be doing 110. (In a 55 mind you)

    So I floored the Mazda 626 LX and crossed 100 pretty quick. I was looking down at the speedo just as I crossed 110 to 111. I looked up from the speedo just in time to see one of Florida’s finest in a radar trap behind a bridge.

    I knew I was toast. I had visions of calling my father and having him bail me out of jail… I just let my foot off the gas and slowed down to about 50, waiting for him to pull out after me.

    I kept looking in the rear view mirror and the trooper never moved. I don’t know if he was asleep or figured he’d never catch me but for whatever reason he stayed put.

    I drove about 3 miles at 50 mph and he never came up behind me. So I put the needle on 59.9 and never looked back. To this day I have no idea how I got away with that.

  • avatar

    How about some stories from the editorial staff (cough, Baruth, cough cough)

  • avatar

    Oh the stories I could tell. I’ve gotten more than my fair share, but not a single one of them has ever gone on my record. A few years ago on I-795 in Maryland, a three lane highway, posted 60mph. I was driving a late 2000s Jaguar XJR and I had just picked up a group of friends to go to the movies. As I’m driving one of my friends points at the stock 170mph speedometer and says, “Thats just for show.” Ever ready to prove him wrong, I floor it and the melodic sound of the V8 and the whining supercharger fills the cabin. We got to an indicated 153 before rounding a very slight bend… and then I spotted the crown vic, idling on the right shoulder, on its side the unmistakable markings of a state trooper. I SLAMMED on the brakes with such ferocity, its a miracle my foot didnt go through the floor. I don’t think I have ever hit the brake pedal that hard before or since. My friends and I watched in horror as the red and blues came on and the officer pulled out. I didn’t even wait for him to get behind me. I just pulled over. The officer went insane, yelling at me, asking me why the **** I was going so fast and where I was going. Since I knew I would be getting ticket,  simply stayed silent as the officer yelled question after question at me. He gave me a ticket for 137 in a 60. I plead guilty by mail, but still showed up for my court date. The judge asked me what kind of motorcycle I had. The judge was shocked to learn that I was doing 137 in a lux barge on public roads, with 4 other passengers. Still he gave me no points and it never went on my record. It was a $980 ticket though. I know, I was an idiot. I should have lost my licence. I’m a better driver now. and I’m proud to say I have been ticket free since that incident.
    Back when I was a little younger (hey, i’m still young) I kept a clean record by exploiting a small loophole. In Texas, you can get a ticket every three months, and as long as you have an attorney draft a letter, it never goes on your record. Yes, it’s all about revenue. The attorney knew me so well there for a while he would use my first name. He told his secretary not to put my file in storage.

  • avatar

    About 10 years ago, my wife and I were at a funeral in a small town about 80 miles from home.  She had what turned out to be a kidney stone attack.  She was not about to go to the local county hospital, and said “just get me home”.  I had recently bought an 89 Cadillac Brougham from an elderly neighbor.  Not that fast, but comfy. 

    We set off on a 2 lane country highway that will have us to the interstate in about 30 miles.  The wife is really in pain, but telling me to just go for it.  It was a clear, bright, dry day, so I sat up straight with hands at 10 and 2 and planted my right foot.  I have the speedo needle up somewhere north of the “85” when way up in the distance, I see a car turning around in a driveway, and starting in my direction.  A Crown Vic.  Damn.  Black grille.  Double damn.  I did not wait for the lights & siren, but just pulled over.  I had probably slowed down to 75 (in a 55)when I passed him. 

    Cop comes to the window, and I asked if he could lead us to the next hospital.  One look at my wife and he could tell I was not kidding around.  He told me where the hospital was, and to slow down and be more careful.  We decided to stop at that hospital where she got checked out and morphined-up.  We both thank her kidney stone for getting me out of a sure ticket.

  • avatar

    I have a few good ones. My 1990 GLi 16v got me in the most trouble. Once on HWY 1 north of Santa Cruz I got pulled over passing a car over the double yellow doing 88 in a 45 (the limit had changed from 55 since we were technically going through a small town). The cop wrote me up for 75 in a 55. Pretty generous. I was especially lucky as I’d just maxed out the car at 120 a few miles back. I got another ticket on HWY 1 later that year. The officer told me he’d been following me the last 10 minutes, and asked how many cars I passed on the double yellow. He had counted 8. Don’t remember the ticket he gave me. Finally, I got another ticket in the GLi driving through Marin County. Some douche motorcyclist decided to race me after I passed him in the #2 lane. Cop pulled both of us over. Ticket was 93 in a 65. My license was restricted after that. Since then my daily drivers have been a 4 cylinder tacoma and a toyota avalon… learned my lesson about sporty cars :)
    Most memorable was when I was 16. The date was 4/20/2000. I was the only one of my friends with a license, and conveniently my ride was my mom’s 1987 Ford Taurus station wagon. I had eight people in the car, we were heading to Rodeo Beach in the Marin Headlands late at night. An SUV was tailgating me, and I sped up to avoid it’s high lights blinding me in the rear view. Turns out it was a cop, federal cop none-the-less as we were on federal land. Pulled me over for speeding. Before I know it, one cop is questioning me as the other circles the car flashlight in hand. They were quick to comment on their surprise that all eight of us had seat belts on (bench seats, column shifters, and jumper seats are awesome). Then I hear “he’s got a bong between his legs” (my buddy in the back seat). It was, after all, 4/20. And we were very young. They order everyone out, search the car, and everyone of us (almost…). One of my buddies gets a possession charge, another gets a charge for having a pipe, and I get nothing. The weird part was, everyone was searched except for this dude Nick who was in the front passenger seat. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was a coke dealer (got raided by SWAT later that year, but that’s another story). Two of my friends swear they saw the cops pick up and pocket a baggie from where he was sitting. After all that, we were let go. The next day, Nick calls me ’cause he left something in the Taurus back seat. My mom gets home from work that evening, and sure enough, there’s a huge bag of coke sitting out on the back seat.
    BTW. I think cocaine and cocaine dealers are disgusting and I do not condone drug abuse.

  • avatar

    I’ve gotten a few, mainly because I drive a lot for work. But my most recent one was infuriating. I invested in a radar detector about a year ago, and it’s saved my ass a few times. A couple months ago however, I was driving on a back road and my phone rang. I unplugged my radar detector because it was beeping and I was trying to talk.
    I keep going another 30 minutes or so and I get pulled over. I’m staring dumbfounded at my radar detector – “Where the hell were you?” I remember screaming at it. Then I realize I never plugged it back in after my phone conversation was over. My jaw dropped, and I was just livid over my own stupidity. I never would have gotten nailed if I had left it plugged in.
    Now, I keep that thing plugged in whenever the engine’s running, regardless of how the beeping annoys me or my passengers.

    • 0 avatar

      I don’t understand the appeal of radar detectors. No one really needs to be driving more than 70mph on an interstate, etc.
      I think that raising the speed limit to 75mph makes more sense because the cops will catch more people doing 90+, hence more money.

    • 0 avatar
      Educator(of teachers)Dan

      I don’t understand the appeal of radar detectors. No one really needs to be driving more than 70mph on an interstate, etc.
      Seriously?  Interstate speed limits in New Mexico (where I live) are 75mph, I don’t really start passing people until I hit 90mph.  One of my colleagues, who is the wife of one of our local sheriff’s lieutenants, claims that state police won’t ticket you until you hit 85mph.  Personally I’m a guy who drives based on the conditions.  If it’s warm and sunny I run 90mph, dropping to 80 in the dark or in cloudy conditions.  I keep an tabs on the condition of my tires, brakes, and wipers and cut it back to 75mph when it rains as long as it doesn’t get too nasty.  In snow and the like?  As fast as conditions will allow, I once went 45mph from Albuquerque to Gallup during a snow storm.

    • 0 avatar

      No one “needs to” drive over 70 mph, but here in Texas, everyone passes you on the right if you’re not going at least 80 on the highways. You kind of have to speed just to keep up with traffic. Plus, our speed limits on back roads and small towns are obscenely low – we have tons of speed traps where I live.

  • avatar

    I was driving one day and got passed by a lunatic that was going at least 90mph. Not willing to let it slide, I decided to “chase” them at highway speeds. Passed a statie while in the left lane and got a ticket for it.

    Another time I drove through a speed trap and got a warning. The cop had radar on the front and simply pulled me over.

  • avatar

    My first ticket, February, 1969, when I was 17. I was out cruising around one Sunday and was in a neighboring municipality when I looked in my mirror and saw a cop pacing me with his red lights on – the bright lights were red and flashing – an unmarked car! He asked me why I never looked in my mirror to see if anyone was behind me. I really wanted to say I was looking at the road ahead, like I was supposed to! But I didn’t. Clocked me at 40 in a 30. Well, I had to appear in court on a Friday evening. The officer requested my dad appear with me. He did. There was a dance I planned to go to that evening, and here I was, all dressed up in my psychedelic Nehru shirt complete with hippie medallion on a chain around my neck in traffic court with my dad! When my name was called, we got up and approached the bench. The judge asked me some questions – my speedometer was broke (true), did I get it fixed? (also true – the very next day) yes. The judge asked my dad if I was a good boy – his answer? “Da** fine boy!” (I cringed!). The Judge laughed and told us he was letting me go, just pay the $5.00 (yes – five bucks) court cost and enjoy the dance! Lesson learned!

  • avatar
    Sammy Hagar

    I was on vacation in Germany, driving way too fast in a village (always 50kph, never posted), and a fat Polizei officer w/a Lego-style traffic paddle signaled me to pull over.  The priority road in that village is twisty like a snake, so plenty of opportunities for the cops to set up a camera car and nail you as you come around the bend.  Anyway, I handed the guy my AAA “international” and state licenses, passport and vehicle paperwork;  got some flack about who owned the care (FIL), but it didn’t cause a problem.  Though my german is passable, I was using english in the weak hope that the cop would let me go as communication was a problem;  no dice.  He gives me a ticket for like DM80 (which was like $50 at that time?) and tells me I have to pay him or he will not allow me to drive the vehicle away.  It was “WTF?” moment before “WTF?” had entered the vernacular.  Alas, I tell him I don’t have DM80…only dollars.  What’s he do?  He points me to the only bank in the village, instructs me to go to the ATM and bring him DM80;  I did.  To this day, I’m pretty sure him and his buddy, Offizer Hutch, had döners & Parkbraus on me.

  • avatar

    My story was a ticket I should have received, but didn’t.  Heading home from my college job delivering pizzas one night about 15 years ago, some frat boy in an Eddie Bauer Explorer wants to race me in my MX6.  Shortly after putting him in his place I see the red and blues light up from a side street to my right.  I pull over, but the frat boy takes off.  I guess the officer decided that a bird in the hand…so he stays with me.  As I’m silently cursing myself, fully expecting to get hit with reckless driving, the officer gets to my window and sees me still in my pizza uniform.  He asks if I’m still working, and I let him know I’m done for the night; just heading home.  After a few tense seconds, he just smiles and says “That’s the pizza place that gives free pizzas to on-duty officers, right?  Slow down a little next time,” gets back in his cruiser and heads back to his hiding spot.  No ticket.
    I’d like to say I learned my lesson that night, but…

  • avatar

    1976 — Boston to Pittsburgh
    long-haired hippies
    1969 Dodge van
    Pennsylvania turnpike
    ounce of pot
    a few qaaludes
    Ruger 357 magnum (w/Massachusetts pistol permit)
    Cops searched the van
    tossed the drugs
    No tickets/arrests or confiscations
    See you later guys

  • avatar

    Mid 90’s true story, it’s a Sunday morning; I am driving I-75 south through Ohio from Detroit down to Dayton. As it was a Sunday, traffic was minimal, I am going in and out construction zones where the highway gets squeezed into a single lane with concrete barriers on both sides and a posted speed of 45mph for the past 2 hours. Well its Sunday, no one is working construction, little traffic, so I am cruising at 65mph regardless of the construction. Heading into the next single lane construction zone about 200yards before I enter into the single lane construction zone, although already posted for 45mph, a state trooper going in the opposite direction, throws on his lights, comes through the median and pulls in behind me just as I pass the ‘traffic fines double in the construction zone’ sign and enter the single lane construction zone. Pucker factor through the roof, cussing up a storm. Now I have concrete walls on both sides so I can’t pull over and I have no idea how long this section of construction runs, not sure what to do, panicking.  I hit the brakes and slow down to 50 with the state trooper lights ablaze riding my bumper in the single lane construction zone. About 30 seconds into the zone, he hits the sirens. Now, I am totally WTF, freaking out, not sure how this situation is supposed to be handled cause technically at 50mph,  I guess I am still “speeding through construction”, but hell if I am getting a ticket at least make it worth it . Upon him hitting the sirens, I slow to 40mph to get below the construction signs of 45, then over the loud speaker, I hear “driver go faster”, my mind flips, ahhh… mm.. Ok I speed back up to 55. The trooper gives me a different siren chirp and hand motions to go faster, now I am at 65. Sweating bullets, wondering if I am going to jail, when I hear the trooper say “hammer it”. Ok I hammer my 1990 Jeep Cherokee, take it to 80 mph through the 45mph construction zone, sweating bullets, trying like hell not to scrap or bounce it off the concrete construction walls on either side. All types of jail scenarios are going through my mind. Finally after a couple of miles I reach the end of the construction zone and figure it’s time to meet the judge.  Just as we reach two lanes again, I hear the cop car’s engine rev up even higher; he rips into the left lane and blows past me. He immediately pulls a Dukes of Hazzard, drives through the median and tires screeches to a halt on the other side of the highway. I am in disbelief.  I see another trooper with his weapon draw arguing with a motorist on the other side of the highway. (I believe the motorist end up getting shot in the altercation after pulling a weapon.)  So I didn’t get a ticket, got the max pucker factor fear of God induced drive, I did not speed the rest of that drive, and thanked my lucky stars.

  • avatar

    I have to say that I for one am frightened of telling any such tales online. Suffice it to say I have had my moments but these days I seem to drive as if Miss Daisy was along for the ride. So sad.

  • avatar

    Another “non-ticket” tale.
    I-70 in wintertime Ohio. 1978; eastbound with the hammer down. 72 mph or so in 10th gear,max speed with 75,000 pounds axle weight on 18 wheels.
    Era of the “double nickle” 55 mph speed limit and Ohio was one of the most fearful enforcers of that limit.
    The “bird dog” yelped then I saw the westbound minimally-marked Smokey Bear…. slowing down in the “hammer lane” (fast lane) and commence the u-turn in the snow-covered median…. where he became STUCK!!!!!!!!
    The CB radio had filled with the jeering and jokes and sundry comments when Smokey lit up his lights.
    They continued as a play-by-play commentary ensued as Smokey Bear took various actions trying to extricate his vehicle from the median.
    Noting the billboard, &^ truck-stop two miles ahead at such-and-such exit number I made my decision…. keep the hammer down and pull into the parking lot and hide the best i could…. hoping to disappear due to the firm I hired myself and tractor; a large firm with several thousand owner/operators with a frequently seen presence across the land.
    As the continued CB broadcasts relayed, the still stuck bear was left behind and the exit was arrived at.
    Voices of encouragement were minimal and general, with the other truckers not wanting to offer too much assistance to the bear since they often possessed a CB radio to assist in monitoring the air waves for various reasons.
    Entering the truck stop, smoking still stuck on the center divider strip, I headed for the most crowded part of the multi-acre parking lot and found a parking spot among the throng.
    I noticed a few thumbs-up from drivers relaxing while listening to their CBs.
    Slapping on the parking brakes I crawled into the sleeper, covered up and commenced taking a nap.
    No way was i going to drive for awhile….. at least until Smokey became unstuck and hopefully went off-shift.
    A long nap and with darkness arriving I fudged the log book and headed off.
    Made it.
    I wonder if Smokey Bear remembers “the one that got away”?

  • avatar

    The best story is the time I didn’t actually get a ticket. When I was living in East Harlem and working in Soho, I used to take the FDR to work every day. I wouldn’t have to be there until noon, and there wasn’t usually much traffic on the FDR after 10am. The FDR has a speed limit of 40, but it is never observed, speeds 50-70 are normal and I’ve never seen anyone pulled over.

    I had my Integra back then and this particular morning it was a beautiful, sunny day, no traffic and I was enjoying a spirited drive, but not really paying much attention to my speed. Just past the old 14th street exit, I see a cop coming up behind me – he hits his siren and flashers. I’m thinking, ‘this is a first, I’ve never seen anyone pulled over on the FDR before except maybe a van they were checking for explosives’.

    I exit at Canal (my exit) and pull over the first safe place I can. The cop comes up to my door and he looks seriously pissed. Puffing and red-faced he immediately lets me have it. “Do you know how fast you were going?” “No, I’m not really sure (truth I hadn’t even looked at my speedo).” “You must’ve been going over 100 miles an hour, you were passing cars like they were standing still!” “Sorry Officer, I hadn’t really checked my speed.” “Do you even have a license or insurance?”, he yells.

    Flabbergasted he takes my papers and goes back to his car to check me out. Comes back a bit later and says to my complete disbelief, “I’m going to let you off with a warning. SLOW IT DOWN!” and leaves.

    The only thing I can think of is that he was a patrol car and didn’t have a radar gun. Since I didn’t admit to speeding, perhaps he couldn’t provide proof for a ticket. Either that or he got a call to an emergency. I’ll never know, but that was one time I was sure I wasn’t getting out of a ticket.

  • avatar

    Once, while in college, I decided to “bury the speedometer”.  Just when I did that, I passed a radar cop.  I looked into my mirror, and he did nothing.  Never understood why, but I was grateful.  Never did that again.

    • 0 avatar

      I was on I15 in California heading back to Las Vegas back in 1976 in my 74 Roadrunner that had been modded enough to run mid 13 second quarter mile E.T’s, and a guy in a Trans Am and I started playing around at about 125 MPH, passing each other and he finally went off on a split and I just kept on going the same speed, as there was almost no traffic at all, and I wanted to get home and go to sleep. All of a sudden, about 20 miles from the border, I passed what I thought for a second was a broken down car along the shoulder, but I realized it was a CHP car just before the lights came on. I pulled over and waited for him to come to the window. I wondered how much it was going to cost me, and if I would have to call my mom to send cash to get me out or not. He comes up to my window, and says, “Hey speedy, what’s the hurry?”. I told him the truth, I had been at Irwindale raceway all day for the “Back to School” race, and wanted to go home and go to bed, as I had been up about 24 hours at that point. He asked me how fast I was going and I said “About 125”. He asked me about the car and what I had done to it, and went back and checked me for wants and warrants. After what seemed like a long long wait, he comes back, hands me my license and registration, and says, “Well, I’ll make a deal with you, if you promise to drive sanely the rest of the way to the border, I will let you off without a ticket!” I took that deal and drove 55 all the way to Nevada, where I picked it up to about 70. A friend of mine had been at the race too, and he got written up about an hour later for going 80 in almost the same place. From what he said the CHP officer looked like, we were sure it was the same guy. Why I got a pass and he didn’t was a total mystery. The only thing we could think of was he liked Mopars and didn’t like my friend’s Mustang too much. I have to say, I didn’t like it much either.

  • avatar

    This story is from an old Car and Driver: Some kid decides to go out cruising above the limit. But before he goes, he takes his chewing gum out of his mouth, wraps it up in the foil wrapper it came in, and sticks it in his shirt pocket.

    Soon enough, John Law stops him for doing some outrageous number over the speed limit. Officer approaches the car and says, “Just who in hell do you think you are, driving around like that?”.

    Kid calmly takes the foil-wrapped gum from his pocket, presents it to the cop and says, “Perhaps this silver bullet will identify me…”.

  • avatar

    You can ask anybody in the family.
    They ALL know.

    Driving Scottie to his first year in college, I was boasting about my skill as a driver.
    I was explaining the skill that comes from all these years when I was driving 4 thousand miles a month doing sales calls.
    Oh how skilled I was.

    However, during this crowing I was not following my own highway rules and didn’t notice my speed.
    Just outside of Effingham  Illinois I got caught in the speed trap that had been there since I was going to college at SIU!!!
    Yup, pulled over along with about 6 other cars.
    Charged with doing 81 in a 55 MPH limit.
    Just sat there and took the ribbing while my credit card was run.

    All I heard the rest of the trip were my words sarcastically being repeated by Scott and the boys over and over again.
    I still get it once in awhile

  • avatar

    I have to defend a 100mph in a 55 zone with my SRT8 300C  on Thursday.
    The Meadowbrook Parkway is DESIGNED for speed. Who the fk woulda thought the Cops would be out early on a Saturday morning?

  • avatar

    Okay. So I’m on my way to race at the 24 Hours of LeMons in South Carolina. I’m supposed to convoy up with the tow rig before 6AM, north of Washington DC because I’ve neglected to bring a map or directions, or hell, even have the vaguest idea of where the race track is. I’m running late – the tow rig leaves the gate almost half an hour ahead of me. This means I get the brunt of the Washington DC rush hour. It takes me TWO HOURS to clear DC. A phone conversation once I’ve picked up I-95 indicates that I’m WAY behind – almost 70 miles. I plant my foot and do some heinous speeding. I encounter two state troopers just outside DC, but the brake-stomp move brings me back to the speed limit before I fall into their line of fire.
    I take I-95 through Richmond, while the rest of the crew takes I-295 around it. They stop for fuel on that leg. I make a mad dash F1-grade pitstop south of Richmond. I just KNOW I’m still behind, so I set back out and add even more speed to the equation – after all, I haven’t seen a cop since DC.
    A handful of miles north of the North Carolina border, I spot at the very last second a single unmarked in the median. More brake-stomping. This time I only get down to 75 before I’m alongside. Shit. However, he doesn’t move. I come around the next corner – everything’s clear. Back up to rendezvous speed. Around the next bend, however, there’s a gaggle of marked Panthers – the local Sheriff’s office. ALL of the local Sheriff’s office by the looks of things. Four of them are standing outside their cars running radar – the rest are waiting to run down cars. It clicks – the unmarked back there was calling likely suspects. The shoulder ahead of me is lined in stopped cars and flashing lights. I’m screwed. One of them runs me down and I have a hell of a time finding a parking space.
    He takes one look into my car – where I have my race gear sitting on the passenger seat and tells me I’m getting a ticket. He was so impatient to get me in and out that he decided he didn’t want to wait for me to get my registration and insurance card – my driver’s license and license plate will do just fine thank you. In, I swear to god, less than 2 minutes, I’m back on the road with a ticket. I pull into the rest stop just over the North Carolina border and call the tow rig.
    Somehow, I’m 20 miles ahead now. I misjudged the extra distance their bypassing Richmond added, and it took a whole lot more time to feed the truck’s thirst for MORE GASOLINE than I’d have expected.
    I still did a lot better with my $200 ticket than our crew chief, whose transmission blew up to the tune of a $2000 rebuild, a rental car, and an additional 5-day hotel stay.

  • avatar

    I only have one but it still pisses me off ten years after the fact. Used to commute back and forth from college to home, a 90 mile one way trek with half of those miles on a crappy two laner. On a sunny Sunday I got stuck behind an idiot in a Cavalier who didn’t know how to keep a constant velocity. He’d go 55-60 on the straights then back down to 45-50 in the corners, even though the road is posted at 55. Finally after about 15 minutes of this back and fourth we made it to the stretch that goes four lanes and I punch it. Unfortunately, so does the idiot. So I’m neck and neck with him going 70, when I notice the SUV coming down the other direction has a roof rack that seems thicker than normal. “F*** it” I say to myself. A half mile later I’m beyond the idiot feeling like I just took a healthy dump. I eye my rear view to see how far back the idiot is and I notice that SUV is now behind us. With bluies. Crap. I immediately pull over and watch the idiot pass me. It was all I could do not to PIT the MFer. I played it straight with the officer. I told him that I just wanted to get by the idiot cause his speed was all over the place and I had a journey ahead. Didn’t do me any good. $74 and two points. Have never seen a cop on that section of road since.

  • avatar

    17 years old, driving a 1981 Ford Escort to high school.  After leaving the local gas station to get our morning lottery scratchoffs that determined if we were going to school that day (if any of us won 20 bucks or more we weren’t going), buddy of mine was checking out right behind me, he had a late 70’s Ford LTD IIRC.  12 mile stretch of OH-7 winding along the Ohio River to the High School.  Never once saw a cop along that stretch in several years until that fateful morning.  Came around a bend with that poor little Escort floored and had been for a few miles.  In the rear view mirror I could catch glimpses of my buddy catching me.  Then all of a sudden there’s a cop car coming from the other direction.  He slams on the brakes, whips around, pulls me over.  Not sure how he missed my buddy locking them up to avoid slamming into him while he was turning around in the middle of the road.  85 in a 55, no seatbelt for any of us.  Lost license for 3 months, insurance went up dramatically, paid a 75 dollar or so fine.  Shortly after I got my license back I flipped said car into a large tree but that’s a story for another time.

  • avatar

    To reinforce obbop’s comment about Ohio back in the malaise days being a radar infested nightmare, it was all too true. And they would pull you over for the slimmest of speed above the limits, too. I once bought a ticket for 62 mph in a 55 zone. I got pulled over for stupid crap like that. I have a hard time believing that there was no revenue enhancement going on at the time…
    The best one is not mine, it was an acquaintance of mine who was (was being the operative word here) a cop in a neighboring town across the state line in Pennsylvania. Back in the mid 80’s, a bunch of us were having lots of fun with our 80’s muscle cars. My cop friend had just taken delivery of a brand new Shelby Turbo Charger and was itching to find out what it would do. There were few roads that are particularly straight at home, and pot-hole free. But one interstate frontage road was, and we would occasionally utilize it in our need for speed. The caveat was, the local cops and occasionally Pennsylvania State Troopers would sit with no lights on in the parking lots of the businesses that lined either side of the road.
    Our buddy *John* took his brand new Shelby over to Swamp Road, and got ready for a run. Several of us went further down the road and found a suitable place to witness the land speed record. A couple of minutes later, *John* comes blasting down the road, turbo whistling, and blows past us. And past the Trooper in the next parking lot over. The Stately lights up, and chases *John* down. We, being the good friends we are, got the hell out of there.
    We catch up with *John* a couple of days later and he is bummed. After the trooper chased him down, he requested his license. *John* has a brain fart and hands the trooper his ID along with his city cop credentials. Apparently the trooper loses his cool when he realizes he’s just pursued a fellow LEO, and lodges a complaint against him with his superior officer. His superior officer is so p!ssed off at *John* for this stunt, that he gets suspended from duty without pay for two weeks! And since they clocked him at 60 MPH over speed limit, the State Police impounded his car. The fine was in the neighborhood of $1000 (back in 1987, that put a dent in your wallet!) and he got three points on his license, too. IIRC, he had to get the high risk pool insurance. It was a disaster for him.
    He never got past that ‘stunt’ and shortly after left that police department for another one closer to Pittsburgh. *John* thought that he had a ‘get out of jail card’ by showing his badge, but the whole thing blew up in his face…
    *John* isn’t really his name.

  • avatar

    Winter of ’90 I left a conservation district meeting late, 11 pm or thereabouts and headed out south on US 101.  A solid 55 mph to home and I was tired so I put the hammer down on my 4WD ’89 XT (the poor man’s Lancia Stratos) and cruised at 80+ Washington State Patrol around at this hour. The infamous straight south of Bay Center has a nice little dip in the middle of it and….. I lit up that WSP cruiser like the morning sun with my..ahem, driving lights (twin 100W landing lights) from 300 feet and it took me all of 600 feet to slow down. I sorta of blew past him.
    He pulls up behind me and I thought. I’m screwed. So I hope out and shrug my shoulders. As he walks up I said “what the hell are you doing out here, it’s nearly midnight?”. He laughed and said two words “Clam tide”. My response was like “Oh, yes..good idea”. See, WSP nails all the returning razor clam diggers heading back to Oly, Seattle, wherever, except this time he nailed a local returning from public service.
    He knew my rig as the staters were always hanging around the courthouse (where I worked) so after bs’ing a while he pauses, looks up at the sky and says “it’s a clear night”, then he looks down at the pavement “the road is dry”, he looks over at my XT and says, “driving a nice car…how about I write you up for 65?”.
    Well gee golly I agreed. As he ripped the ticket off and handed it to me he said “and there aren’t any more of us south of here”. He went north and I went my merry way.

  • avatar

    Gunned at 40 downhill on Massachusetts Ave (“Embassy Row”) in Washington D.C.
    On a mountain bike.

  • avatar

    About 10 years back, in Moscow. Just before some state holiday. Stopped for “paper check” – police check if you have all papers proper and with yourself. Because if they are not or you simply forgot them – that’s feeding time for these guys in grays.
    Anyhow, all my papers are OK. But before the holidays the smokeys are desperately looking for some excuse to fine you and to suggest solving the problem “on spot” (read – bribe). So there it goes – show your first aid kit – check. Emergency stop sign – check. Fire extinguisher – none. Oops! Now we start talking. They want to withhold my license before I pay the fine.
    Because of the holidays it will be at least a few days, and they know it. They make the above offer, I refuse as I for some reason have 0 cash with me and I want to go the official way. Tension goes up. Suddenly one of the two policemen exclaims in despair – Can you give us something, anything?!

  • avatar
    Kevin L. Copple

    In the early 80’s I’m headed north on I-35 in Iowa. At maybe 85 mph the Escort blares and I immediately stomp the brakes–I’d read that if you’re quick enough that’ll work (maybe not these days with better electronics).

    Fishtailing the RX-7 a little as I scrub off speed, I notice a big rig in the right lane (I’m in left lane) behind me a couple hundred yards, whom I’d just passed.

    The cop tells me clocked me at 65 mph. After issuing a 65 in 55 ticket, the highway patrolman smirks and says “I guess that radar detector didn’t help ya any.” I’m guessing he got a reading on the truck. Whether the quick braking made a difference, I’m not sure.

  • avatar

    I was cruising on a brilliant autumn day on I-40 at Forest City Arkansas with my cruise control set at 69. I was driving a brand new Lincoln Continental with Illinois license plates on it. I loved the car and it cruised so brilliantly, so I was in no hurry, piddling along in the right lane in a 65mph speed limit. I had to remain in the right lane to allow other drivers to pass.

    I got pulled over by a state trooper for speeding. Maybe it was the new Lincoln. Maybe it was the Illinois plates. But I was shocked and completely furious. It was a $200 dollar speeding ticket. I pulled over at the next exit and phoned the number on the ticket and went straight away to the post office to drop the personal check and ticket into the mail in Forest City. I refused to allow this jerk of a moronic state trooper to ruin my day. I wanted nothing more to do with Arkansas, Forest City, ever again.

    I have never been back. I drive around Arkansas instead of through it. Whatever they got with their $200 bucks, they lost in my future vacations, trips and commutes around that hell hole state. I know I have deliberately avoided Arkansas to the tune of thousands of vacation dollars. I stay in Memphis, the Missouri Ozarks, and if I cross the border for some reason, I make sure not to spend one damn dime in Arkansas for anything road or trip related.

    I hope they are happy with their cash. Morons!

  • avatar
    M 1

    I was young, single, unhappy, alone and bored on a cold, rainy Thanksgiving night. Just out for a drive in my junky ’80 Toyota Celica, which I had bought for $88 (a fact of which I was perversely proud, until I read about Murilee’s $50 Toyota a few minutes ago). I remember passing a 35 MPH sign and checking my speed, as I was also desperately broke at this point in my life and couldn’t afford a ticket or the insurance hike. 31 MPH… and about that time some idiot blew past me at very excessive speeds and disappeared over a hill. I crested the same hill — and coming in the opposite direction was Johnny Law, who hit the lights and ticketed me for 65 in 35. Back then I was too young and frightened of The System to actually fight it. The pisser is that my much-abused and ill-maintained Celica couldn’t manage 60 MPH, let alone 65 MPH…
    I have received many tickets which I completely deserved (to the extent that anyone believes the posted limits are reasonable). I admit this freely, because I have also received many that were pure fabrications. (And before any White Knights decide to lecture me about my driving habits, it probably warrants mentioning that I used to put 50-60K per year on my vehicles, so I spent quite a lot more time under the radar gun than most.)

  • avatar

    Here’s another tale from high school, many, many years ago:

    I was riding home with a friend on the highway after school. We were doing 75 in an old 1952 Chevy 216, 3 spd. column shift. Well, we came up real close to this Chrysler in the fast lane and tailed him unreasonably close – about 6 feet from his bumper! I told my buddy to back off, as even I wasn’t that stupid, but he didn’t listen and kept on. The car ahead didn’t move, either. After about a mile, I started noticing something funny about that car – two guys in suits and a black guy in back. Eventually, they pulled into the next lane and we roared by, still doing 75. The next thing I realized that the Chrysler had moved in behind us and the guy in the passenger seat had a hand-held flashing red light! Cops! I told my friend and he thought I was full of it. Finally he looked in his mirror and his heart jumped and said what some people usually say, but I won’t repeat that!. We pulled over and the driver was a short, stocky guy and the other was tall and thin – and – they both wore hats like in the movies – fedoras, like I now wear. Well, I was never subjected to such a stream of profanity as I have ever heard in my life up to that time – even words and phrases I had not heard of – until I entered the USAF, anyway! My buddy was upbraided up one side and down the other. Then it was my turn! The short guy was doing all the talking thus far. I gave him my license and he started asking me all sorts of questions, trying to trip me up like he did my friend. Well, immediately, I recited my name, address, phne number, height, weight, hair & eye color, my ENTIRE 16-DIGIT Missouri license number and my SSAN! He stood there and looked at me and never said a word. Finally, he got the both of us together and told us if they weren’t transporting a PRISONER (who was cuffed and in chains!), we’d be on our way to the county courthouse. He then told us in very frank, very obscene terms to get out of there and never let this happen again! No ticket, either! Whew! Very, very fortunate that day!

  • avatar

    I think it happened in 1995 or 96, so I was either 18 or 19 at the time. It was the middle of the night and I was driving back from a crappy little town in Southern Ontario to the slightly less crappy town that I lived in.
    I was driving my dad’s 1994 Accord DX at the time. The speed limit was 80 km/h. Since it was about 2 AM and there were no cars on the road, I decided to go a bit faster. I was going about 115 km/h when a car passed by me in the opposite direction. I remember that I saw it turn around, and then the red OPP roof lights came on. So I slowed down and was my usual polite self when he questioned me. I don’t remember the outcome, but I think he may have dropped it down to 95 in an 80.
    My dad didn’t find out about it immediately because he was a retired OPP officer at the time and I was pretty embarrassed about it. I thought I could pay the fine and it would go away. Once he found out about it and found out who issued the ticket, he told me we were going to court for it. None of the other OPPs liked the guy that gave me the ticket, so I think that was part of the reason why he decided to fight it. I believe the 95 in an 80 stuck but they reduced the fine some.
    My second ticket was after I moved to the U.S. It happened in Mechanic Falls, Maine. Not much goes on in Mechanic Falls (or Mechanical Balls as my wife calls it). I was going to my crappy job on a Saturday morning in February of 2004 and driving through a 35 zone. The cop was apparently hiding behind the high school entrance sign. He gave me a ticket for 48 in a 35. The fine was just over $100. I went to court on my own this time and got the fine reduced to $90. Now I use my GPS to make sure I’m not going over 35 if I travel through that area.
    I’ve had no tickets since 2004s. On highways I set the cruise to about 3 MPH over the limit. It might take me a bit longer to get to my destination, but I save fuel and don’t have to worry about increasing the idiot tax revenue of whatever area I’m in.

  • avatar

    The police in Plainfield, IL don’t take kindly to large commercial traffic in their parts. My company had been pulled over and ticketed several times there for bogus claims, but this one takes the cake.
    Our driver was ticketed for doing 5mph over as well as a totally bogus ticket for “No Plate” on the trailer. Yet, the plate number was written down on the ticket! The baffled expressions in the courtroom when I went to fight it were well worth the 4 hours they stole from me.

  • avatar

    Never EVER had a speeding ticket. Ever. Nor have I ever been pulled over – ever. And it’s not like I don’t speed. I’m just awesome really. (I have written off 5 cars though).

  • avatar

    My first year practicing law, I represented a client going 85 in a 35. My client was on the feeder road to enter the highway when he passed an unmarked Dodge Charger police car (well, marked by the reflective tape of the jurisdiction when viewed directly from the side). The police officer  used radar and pacing to determine my client’s speed and took about 4 miles to catch up with my client.
    I set it for trial and obtained a copy of the dashboard cam, confirming the general recklessness at which my client was driving (weaving in and out of traffic, tailgating, flashing lights, etc). After two resets, the prosecutor still wasn’t willing to work out a deal and the video wasn’t favorable for a jury or bench trial.
    Ultimately the judge gave my client max fine, 6 months deferred and 50 hours of community service.

  • avatar

    Three I didn’t get (as opposed to the several I did receive). All three were at more than 40 over the limit, yet each time I received warnings, or at least nothing that earned me any additional points on my license. I am respectful, apologetic and circumspect, and my good attitude has paid off each time.

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