The Road Thing, Part III

Riles in the hotel in OKC

“A strong woman is a woman determined to do 

something others are determined not be done”
― Marge Piercy

My alarm went off at 4:30 am on Monday, and I hit "Snooze."  At 4:40, I hit "Snooze" a second time.  At 4:50, I turned off that particular alarm and the one I had set for 5:00 am. I finally woke up after 6:15 (CST).

When I called Mike, he again asked me how far I was going to drive that day, and I told him that I was going to make it to London.  "It's a long way," he reiterated, and I counter-reiterated with, "I know, but I'm not stopping anywhere tonight." As I mentioned, our original plans called for a stop somewhere in Indiana, but I hadn't wanted to stop there in the first place.  Being in control of my driving destiny, I intended to go straight through.

Somehow I loaded the car with what I had taken out and got Riley safely ensconced.  I handed in the key at the desk and heard sausage patties calling me over.  I did not cave because, quite like the bacon of Sunday's buffet, Monday's sausage looked to be all mystery and no meat.  When I filled up the tank, I also got coffee—or the liquid brown crap the gas station was selling as such—because there was no Starbucks in the vicinity of my route.  Since Tulsa was about 110 miles away, I figured I'd find one eventually, which I did.


The interesting thing about coffee and me is that I hated the stuff until about 20 years ago, but today I crave it even thought I find the taste a little odd (unless we're talking cappuccino, but that's another story).  At any rate, I was thoroughly enjoying the Starbucks Christmas Blend as I headed northeast on I-44.  Traffic was moderate, and I noticed that everyone was slowing down because there was a little black car stopped on the side of the road.  Highway Patrol.  According to my speedometer, I was going about 78 mph, but I still slowed down to 70 by the time I passed him.

Riley slept on one pillow but kept his head on the one in this photo.

Starbucks in my right hand and steering wheel in my left, I watched him in my rear-view mirror as I passed.  Nothing.  I sighed in relief and looked in the mirror again. Pink and blue lights pulsated as the patrolman raced toward me.

"HOLY CRAP."  I admit, once again, that I said something slightly stronger than that, but I pulled over, turned off the engine, and waited.  A tall guy in one of those stupid Mountie hats approached the passenger side.  I put the window down and greeted him.

"Good morning, Ma'am," he said.  "How are you today?"   

I was fine until you pulled me over, I thought, but I assured him that I was fine and tried to keep Riley from jumping out of the window.  "He's friendly," I told the officer.  "He'll lick you to death. RILEY! Stop that! Get in the back!"  The officer laughed.  Good sign.

"I clocked you going 81 in a 75, Ma'am," he said.  You pulled me over for six miles?  My speedometer had me at 78, I thought, but said nothing.  I had California license plates on my car.  "Where are you heading?"  I explained that we had an emergency in Ohio and that Michael was there and that the dog and I were alone and heading there and that we would then head to Virginia to see our son for Christmas.  "I see," he said.  "May I see your license and insurance, please?"

Somewhere in Oklahoma before my conversation with the officer

I handed him my license and looked for the car rental agreement that I had placed in the passenger-side door pocket on Friday.  It was not there.  "This is a rental," I told him. "We never drive across country with our own cars."  Why the hell I added that, I do not know.  I threw my purse in the backseat with Riles and started to go through my backpack.  Nothing.  I opened the glove compartment. Nothing.  "I can't find the rental agreement," I told him.

"You don't have a rental agreement?" he asked me.

"I do, but I don't know where I put it. We had an emergency in Ohio and my husband had to fly there Tuesday and Riley and I are heading there alone."  He didn't say anything, so I asked, "May I get out and come and look over there, please? I know I should not get out of the car, but I can't see anything from here."  He nodded and added, "Watch for traffic when you get out, Ma'am."

I was, at this point, a bit hysterical. I could not imagine what I had done with the rental agreement. I jumped out of the car and ran to the passenger side while pulling my hair.  Riley, seeing me approaching the passenger side, jumped in the front seat again.  "GET IN THE BACK," I yelled at him and pushed him back there.  He stood on the console and watched me pull the food bag out of the front and search it.  Nothing.  I opened the glove compartment, and in there I found the car company's insurance form and registration.  I handed it to him.  "How's this?" I asked.

"Come back to my cruiser for a few minutes, will you?"  He told me to close the window so the dog didn't jump out and walked back to his car.  I put the window up and handed Riles a few nuggets of dog food before I walked back.  I probably walked back to the cruiser in much of a normal manner, but in my mind, I see myself pulling my hair and waving my arms in the air.  I know I didn't do that, but I was pretty hysterical and that's the mental picture I have of myself.  I got in his cruiser as he was running my license.

"Do you still live in Las Vegas?" he asked me.  I assured him I did and repeated for the third or fourth time that we had had an emergency in Ohio, that Mike went there Tuesday, and that Riley and I were driving there alone and that we would all go to Virginia at the end of the week.  "You rented this car?" he asked me again.

I told him that I had because we do not drive across country with our own cars. "Mine's a Mini Cooper," I added.  "I would never get anything in there if I had to bring stuff with me."

"It would probably be uncomfortable," he laughed.  "I bet your dog would be okay, though."  He pointed out of the window to Riley who was staring at us from the back seat of the SUV.  I waved at him.

Riley re-enacting watching me while I was in the cruiser

The officer took the mic out of its holder and called someone.  He gave the car make, license plate, and registration number and asked the gal on the other end to check for warrants. Even though I knew there was nothing, I was scared to death. While we waited, I repeated the emergency story and told him exactly what had happened. He agreed that it was terrible and, to his credit, never mentioned that it was not a reason to speed six miles (I swear it was only three.) over the limit.

A voice crackled over the speaker in the car.  "Negative," she advised him.  Vindicated, I breathed a sigh of relief and waited to see how much those six miles would cost me.  Visions of all this stuff went through my mind in the few seconds after the gal spoke and the officer printed something off of his computer: Online driving school.  Points. Online driving school.  Increased insurance. Online driving school (You can tell that idea drove me crazy.).  The officer handed me my license, the car paperwork, and a the white printout.

"Ma'am, I'm going to just give you a warning," he smiled at me.  "You be careful driving. Watch your speed.  Have a good holiday."  I wanted to hug him, but I just thanked him, wished him a good Christmas,  and got out of the car.  I started to walk away, but I stopped, walked back, and opened the door again.  He looked up.

Somewhere in Missouri

"You know," I said to him, "I just want to thank you for your service....not because you gave me just a warning. I would thank  you regardless."  He stared.  "I am so sorry that a few bad apples, which we can find in any profession, give cops a bad name. I'm even more sorry that some people cannot appreciate all of the good you do.  Thank you, again, and Merry Christmas."  He replied, but I have no memory of what he said.

My memory of my walk back to the car is of a much more dignified approach, although I'm sure I walked quickly.  Riley greeted me with a few kisses as I got settled in the driver's seat, turned the car on, and took off.  The officer followed us for about 10 miles (I stayed under 75.) and then pulled over under an underpass to await his next victim driver.

St. Louis.... only five hours to go

As for me, I drove the remaining 850+ miles at or below the speed limit and arrived in London at 11:40 pm.  It had taken 15+ hours, but I did it.

"I can't believe you drove all that way by yourself," Mike said to me, "but I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too," I assured him being sure not to mention that I was a woman and could do anything I put my mind to doing. I didn't want to rub it in.  "Me, too."

Tomorrow: OK turnpikes and hotel breakfast food