I got pulled over in the U.S. – and my attitude saved me

COMMENT

Speeding is a big deal in Marion, Virginia.

It turns out the small US township, best known as the birthplace of Mountain Dew, doesn’t deal favourably with flouters of the road laws. In fact, let’s get straight to the point and call out these lead-foot assailants for what they really are: half-wits.

On a recent trip to North America, this much was quickly established by a pair of razor-sharp blue eyes staring me down from the overtaking lane of the Interstate 81 highway.

Unfortunately the innocuous white Chevrolet Impala I had overtaken minutes earlier was not another regular road user. The Chevy was actually an unmarked vehicle belonging to the Virginia State Police and its driver now seemed manically intent on getting my attention.

Sounding a quick “whoop… whoop, whoop” of the siren, the officer signalled for me to pull over to the side of the road. The callous nature of his instructions instantly sent a cold, sinking shiver into my conscience.

I had been caught speeding.

In a foreign country.

In a press fleet car.

Gulp.

Worse was to come.

A tall, wirey frame exited the Impala, settled his crisp wide-brimmed hat meticulously into place and walked over. The seriousness of the situation was punctuated by three distinct ‘thunks’ on the driver’s window before the long arm of the law was telegraphed loud and clear via the officer’s distinct U.S. drawl.

“Now, y’all know why I pulled you over, sir?” the officer said, peering down at me through the window.

I took a deep breath, looked the officer in the eye, and answered in a cautiously optimistic tone: “Speeding?”

“Mmm-hmmm. Licence and registration, pleeeease.”

About then I concluded my chances of getting out of this one were between slim and zero.

The officer took my details, and walked back to his Impala, leaving myself and co-driver Todd in suspense for a couple of drawn-out minutes.

My Virginian speeding indiscretion was not deliberate. I’m the first to admit to taking advantage of speedometer leeway on the highway, however in this case, I had simply been caught out chatting with my co-driver and not paying full attention to speed. An easy mistake, though a hard one to explain when the allegation was an estimated 85mph (140km/h) in a 70mph (113km/h) zone.

In reality, the officer’s hardened facial features suggested he had probably seen this excuse a million times before: “yeah, but nah, I was talking to my mate and I got distracted”. Yeah right.

After fidgeting incessantly in my seat of shame – the cockpit of a 527kW Dodge Challenger Hellcat, no less – the uncomfortable silence was finally broken. The officer sounded his horn and beckoned me to walk back to his vehicle then climb into the passenger seat.

What followed was the weirdest interaction with the law I’ve ever experienced.

I settled into the passenger seat of the Impala which, despite its deceptively plain exterior, was kitted out with computers, radar equipment, weaponry and tactical gear.

Personal belongings including eye-drops suggested this un-named officer spent a lot of hours on the road.

The first allegation was served bluntly: “This isn’t a real licence, is it?” thundered the now ashen-faced patrolman.

“Yeah, that’s an Australian drivers’ licence,” I replied, before he swiftly intervened: “Yes, but it’s not a licence to drive here in the US”. The same tactics prevailed when I told the officer about my international driver’s licence – a superficial piece of paper.

Right there and then, the officer informed me he was going to do a background check. He called up a 1800 number, pronounced and spelled out my name in a way I’d never heard, and probed the person on the other end of the line for any past indiscretions. It came back clean.

The next line of tactics centred on any potential criminal history in Australia.

“Any arrests, charges, warrants, speeding fines?” the officer asked me.

The 60-something year old then peered over his bonnet at the Hellcat, turned his head to me and asked if we were carrying arms, drugs or illegal materials.

“No to all three”.

The balance of power was constantly reinforced by the officer, whose demeanour suggested he had been in this job a lot longer than I’ve been driving.

“You’re in quite the bind, aren’t you? What’s going through your mind?”

Time for some thorough self-analysis. I spat out the first response which beckoned: “I’m an idiot”.

A wry, satisfactory smile appeared on the man’s face, like he’s fishing for more of the same. Playing the power game, almost.

Some sincere reasoning followed; it turned out the Virginia trooper was a car head. He owns a Corvette Z06, and while he wasn’t forthcoming at first, he is later able to list stats, power figures and features for the prodigious Hellcat engine.

“I’ve only ever seen two of those before,” the officer revealed. “I know how easy it would be to speed in those things, they are made to go fast.”

Before I can garner any hope of a get-out-of-jail-free card, the officer’s lighter tone quickly hardened. As an Australian who is out of country, I am considered a serious flight risk. It means, should the officer issue me a ticket, there is every reason I might not pay it.

The awkward silence was finally broken.

“I’m in two minds what to do,” he reasoned.

“My head is telling me to place you under arrest, ‘cuff you and throw you in a cell for the night. You’re a flight risk, so we’d need to put you in front of a magistrate to work this out.”

Believe me, these aren’t the words you want to hear while sitting inside a police car, on the side of an American highway, mid-way through a cross-country feature story.

Worse still, this clearly wasn’t a joke. The officer took a good 10 minutes weighing up his options, quizzing me for a reaction. In a moment such as this, I can safely confirm humility, patience and admission of guilt are your best friend. Perhaps your only friend.

There is only so much you can try to reason. Eventually, the cabin became quiet, and the officer arrived at his decision.

“What I’m going to do is… keep driving that way”.

My attitude through the whole debacle prevailed. I shook the un-named man’s hand, thanked him for his reasoning, and promised to be more diligent of my speed.

We all make mistakes. Thankfully, mine didn’t turn into a night in a Virginia state prison. Had I played things differently, the next step would have been a mug shot with my head and name on it.