Florida State Troopers: Cracking Down on Speeders

Much appreciation to Florida State Trooper J. Johnson who was vigilantly at work yesterday making highway 19 in North Pasco County safe for motorists by clamping down on speeders hell-bent on impeding the orderly flow of traffic. Unfortunately, the speeder he clamped down on was yours truly while I was making my daily run up to Capone's on County Line Road in Hernando County.

A cheerful chap, Trooper Johnson introduced himself by inquiring, "Do you know why I pulled you over?"

Taking a wild guess, I responded, "I was going too fast?"

"You were going 72 miles per hour," he said. "Any particular reason why?"

"Yeah," I said, "That guy in the car from the used car lot was all over the road, so I wanted to get around him."

"I'm talking about when you passed that tractor trailer."

"Oh," I recollected, "That was earlier."

He didn't want details, but what happened was I was behind this tractor trailer in the center lane going about 60 when this old fart in the right lane decides to swing over right in front of me for no good reason except maybe he liked the view better from there or maybe he was planning on getting in the left lane ten or twelve miles down the road. Anyway, he was only going 45 so I decided to pass him and while I was in the process of passing him I decided I might as well pass the tractor trailer, too. Did I get up to 72? Well, to be honest, I wasn't watching the speedometer since it didn't seem like a good time to take my eyes off the road. But, I doubt it. I'm usually pretty good at spotting speed traps. I didn't see this guy hiding on the southbound side of the road, so I have to think he was camped out along the northbound side, which means we were separated by the tractor trailer, begging the question of how did he clock me when I was shielded by the big truck? Of course, in the excitement of the moment, I didn't think to contradict him but on reconsideration I'll say I was going about Sixty-five, maybe a little more. But, not 72.

"Do you know what the speed limit is?"

"Sixty?" I knew it was 55, but I figured I'd play dumb. I knew there was no chance of getting off with a warning no matter what I said, not with his lights flashing like it was Christmas and him having followed me around the corner onto County Line Road.

"Fifty-five," he informed me. "May I have your license."

I dug it out of my wallet while he watched, hoping, I guess, that a pound of pot or a kilo of heroin might fall out. Sorry, Trooper, I don't indulge. I haven't even had a beer since Y2K.

I must've represented Trooper Johnson's quota for the day, because after presenting me with my citation, he drove across the median, headed back to 19 where I, not feeling much like shooting pool, anymore, was also headed, and rocketed south at an appropriate speed for someone in a big freakin' hurry to get somewhere.

Understandably, I'm wasn’t feeling too chipper just then, getting a ticket because some brain dead octagenarian all of a sudden decided he preferred the real estate in the center lane. I mean, do you think it's fun driving in Florida, the place where the dead and nearly dead can still get drivers' licenses? It's not uncommon to pull up along somebody who's on life support. I'm serious! Hey, if public transportation down here wasn't so crappy, I'd be it's biggest proponent. Unfortunately, it sucks.

I'm heading south, today, to DJ's. The roads going in that direction are so clogged with old fogies that it's just about impossible to speed. Not that I was speeding, mind you, but if I was so inclined.