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Night rides, twisties and deer, oh my!
A few nights ago, I decided to go out to some twisty roads in the area at about 9PM or so. High beams a must; no streetlights in this area.
It gets a little BFE, but I'm familiar with the roads; no blind, new turns at night or anything to that effect.
After about an hour and three-quarters and 3 pounds of bugs removed from my faceshield, I started heading back. The thing about BFE at night is that all the wildlife comes out to chill in the roads, like all the rest of the cool kids do. They also adore staring at my beautiful, mesmerizing headlights. After rolling past a raccoon I could've kicked on the way by, three deer with their heads over the fog line, and a suicidal bat, I decided this was cookin' up to be one heck of a disaster.
So, I did what any reasonable human rider on two wheels in BFE would do; I found a cage to hide behind. Better him than me.
I and my unwitting protector rolled from the 50MPH zone into the 35MPH zone. It's still dark. Real dark.
At the next stoplight (one of the few for miles); WOOP-WOOP! Blue light special. I move over to the right, waitin' for the officer to pass me. Nope.
Darn.
I remove my helmet, cut the bike and wait. Dude steps out of the squad car, walks over, asks for my license and registration. No problem. After 2 minutes of fiddling with my high-tech waterproof registration storage (three or four ziplock bags of varying strength locked under my seat), I hand over my info. He shines his beatstick-light on 'em, and casually asks if I know why I'd been stopped.
Actually, I didn't. I'd missed said 35MPH sign, concentrating on my shield and the road ahead. He thoughtfully enlightens me. 53 in a 35. DOH!
Next item in that sequence is the inquiry as to why I was going so fast. Growing up, my mom always told me that truth is the best policy. I happen to agree with her. Dang. I just know I'm about to sound like a retard explaining this.
I jab my thumb in the general direction of the car that has long since rapidly retreated into the distance, "To be honest, I was tryin' to keep up with that guy so he could block the deer."
When the officer finally stops laughing, he hands my stuff back to me, "I'm not even going to run your [expletive]; that's the best excuse I've ever heard!"
Whew!
We talked about motorcycles for the next 5 minutes or so, then he tells me to ride safe, and go find another car to keep up with.
Yeah. I did 2-5 miles under the speed limit all the way home.
Can't even make this stuff up.
Life's good!
--B
It gets a little BFE, but I'm familiar with the roads; no blind, new turns at night or anything to that effect.
After about an hour and three-quarters and 3 pounds of bugs removed from my faceshield, I started heading back. The thing about BFE at night is that all the wildlife comes out to chill in the roads, like all the rest of the cool kids do. They also adore staring at my beautiful, mesmerizing headlights. After rolling past a raccoon I could've kicked on the way by, three deer with their heads over the fog line, and a suicidal bat, I decided this was cookin' up to be one heck of a disaster.
So, I did what any reasonable human rider on two wheels in BFE would do; I found a cage to hide behind. Better him than me.
I and my unwitting protector rolled from the 50MPH zone into the 35MPH zone. It's still dark. Real dark.
At the next stoplight (one of the few for miles); WOOP-WOOP! Blue light special. I move over to the right, waitin' for the officer to pass me. Nope.
Darn.
I remove my helmet, cut the bike and wait. Dude steps out of the squad car, walks over, asks for my license and registration. No problem. After 2 minutes of fiddling with my high-tech waterproof registration storage (three or four ziplock bags of varying strength locked under my seat), I hand over my info. He shines his beatstick-light on 'em, and casually asks if I know why I'd been stopped.
Actually, I didn't. I'd missed said 35MPH sign, concentrating on my shield and the road ahead. He thoughtfully enlightens me. 53 in a 35. DOH!
Next item in that sequence is the inquiry as to why I was going so fast. Growing up, my mom always told me that truth is the best policy. I happen to agree with her. Dang. I just know I'm about to sound like a retard explaining this.
I jab my thumb in the general direction of the car that has long since rapidly retreated into the distance, "To be honest, I was tryin' to keep up with that guy so he could block the deer."
When the officer finally stops laughing, he hands my stuff back to me, "I'm not even going to run your [expletive]; that's the best excuse I've ever heard!"
Whew!
We talked about motorcycles for the next 5 minutes or so, then he tells me to ride safe, and go find another car to keep up with.
Yeah. I did 2-5 miles under the speed limit all the way home.
Can't even make this stuff up.
Life's good!
--B
Very smoooooth!!
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