I was pulled over on the Interstate, it was 3:30AM on Monday morning. The cop car had flashing lights and it looked like I was in BIG trouble. The police car driver opened the door and slowly walked up to my truck. I remembered what my police friends had told me. Keep my hands on the steering wheel and just answer the questions, don't be smart and respect the authority.

In an instant my eyes were blinded by his flashlight. The light moved to the back of the truck where my motorcycle was tied down. The cop shook his head and said "Son, why shouldn't I take you in for Motorcycle Abuse?" Then he followed with "Last week at the Motorcycle Abuse Society meeting we heard about creeps like you."

I had to think fast. I was tired from the 11 hour drive back from the Cajun Classic Enduro. I rode the long course and my body was hung over from too much fun. The cop started to list my offences. "What are those funny marks on the front forks?" I explained about the barbed wire that was at mile 32 on the 1st loop but he didn't seem to care. Then he asked "There isn't that much mud in LA, where did you get 50 pounds of mud on the poor thing?" I tried to say something about the deep mud bogs on the 2nd loop, but he cut me off. "Did you find a rope factory or have you cleaned out every vine near Alexandria with your neglected 250?" He seemed to accept the fact that riding on row zero with a nasty 3rd loop would collect about 25 feet of twin-like vines in both wheels.

He then flashed the light inside the truck and saw my helmet. "Son, how can you ruin a brand spanking new helmet in one ride?" I had to focus and give a good answer so I said that it was just a few scratches from the really tight sections on the 3rd loop. I was worried when he asked me to get out of the truck. I opened the door and about fell on the ground from exhaustion. Again the cop said "We have laws against old people driving when they can't control their vehicle, you obviously can't control yourself!" My nose was sore from all the sticks that poked into my helmet and my neck still had several wait-a-minute vine scratches but I finally got something out about only being 47 and didn't have carpel tunnel syndrome from the TV remote control.

I thought that he was almost satisfied with my replies when he asked me a tough question "Well, did you have a good time?" I didn't pause for 1/2 second with "Yes Sir!". I was back in the truck and headed down the road before the cop was back to his car.

Ed Larosche April 2005