Cruising back at the end of day from outer western bohunk, I became aware of a Nascar fan, except my name ain’t Richard Petty. Sniffy McSphincter decided that he wanted to get a few more MPG out of his Volvo by drafting. Seriously, there were times that he’d disappear from my mirrors except for the roof which I could see out the rear windows.
It didn’t matter what the speed limit was-55, 45, 35, he was on my bumper. Tapping the brakes made no difference, so I said screw it-you’re gonna do the speed limit or pass me, and there’s no legal passing zone for another 20+ miles, so it sucks to be you, and if you hit me, you’re fucked twelve ways for Tuesday.
You see, we were approaching a college town/tourist area and at this time of year I’m aware of lots of people who make stupid turns, stop without warning and so forth because they’re not from around here. It’s a fact of life, and I don’t want to hit anybody, and I’ve also gotten the shits of replacing rear bumpers owing to folks who like to try pushing me through intersections or signs because I stop.
On the outskirts of town, I saw a patrol car on my side of the road and pulled off, asking the officer if he wouldn’t mind having a chat with Sniffy about the definition of “proper following distance.” “Sure, but pull in behind me after I’ve stopped him.” The officer collected my cards after getting those from Mr. McSphincter, and explained that he’d need me to come to a hearing if a citation was contested, and so forth. He took down my info, and told me I could go.
In advance, I know some will bitch and say I should have pulled over, but the question is why? I wasn’t breaking the law by impeding traffic, nor was I creating an unsafe condition by traveling under the speed limit, so take that dog home, he won’t hunt here. On a multi lane highway, go ahead and do a hundred miles an hour-it’s your ass, and the ass of whomever you hit, but don’t bitch when you happen to get stuck behind someone who’s simply obeying the law.