1,001 Words

Sunday, February 17, 2008 - 2:15pm - West Alexander, Pennsylvania

Sammy Hagar said it best, and how often does someone say that?  I can’t drive 55.  Apparently, I can’t drive 65.  Or 75.  80, that I can do.  Sadly, my friends and yours in the fine state of Ohio don’t want me to do that.

I took this picture right on the West Virginia/Pennsylvania border, along Interstate 70.  Technically, my car is back in Valley Grove, West Virginia while I and the speed limit sign are in West Alexander, PA.  You can see the "Welcome to Pennsylvania" sign right there between the posts, as the SUV goes by on eastbound 70.  Yes, I intended the picture to be done like that.

It took about 45 minutes of driving for me to finally get over the speeding ticket I picked up in St. Clairsville, Ohio.  I was rocking out to some music (it wasn’t the new EP I got from A-Dog’s brother’s band Goodnight Sunrise, but they’re worth checking out regardless - I like "Routine and Dollar Signs (acoustic remix)" myself) and just getting into the second hour of the six hour drive back to Virginia from Columbus.  I was full of Steak & Shake.  I was "making good time," as my grandmother is known to say, which is really just a euphemism for speeding horribly, but in a socially acceptable manner.  My "good time" was around 80 mph in a 65 zone.  As I zoomed along eastbound 70, I saw one of Ohio’s finest state troopers on the opposite side near a turnaround.  Upon seeing him, after the expletives, I said, "If I were him, I would pull me over."  And he didn’t disappoint.

Really, my interaction with the trooper was pleasant as these things go.  He asked me where I was coming from (half-brother’s wedding), where I was going (Nearlington), and if I knew why he pulled me over - one of the best non-relationship trick questions outside of the job interview trap of "What is your biggest weakness?"  When I didn’t quickly admit I was sure that he pulled me over for the kilos of coke, high-powered weapons, and sixteen Mexican illegals I had in my trunk (with the spare tire AND jumper cables - Saturns have lots of space), he filled in the answer for me saying I was going "a little fast."  Usually, 15 over the limit is more than "a little."  But who was I to disagree with Trooper Buckeye?  He took my license, registration, and proof of insurance (I, at first, gave him an expired copy…that would have ended poorly), went back to his patrol car, made sure I wasn’t Osama Bin Laden or a wanted felon.  The whole process took about ten minutes.  He handed me a blue ticket, a yellow payment instruction, and wished me happy trails.  Because the man is just doing his job, I wished him a safe day.  I made sure to drive the speed limit for the remaining ten miles or so I had in Ohio.  Then once the 70 mph signs popped up just east of Wheeling, I was back up to the +10 speed limit.  I still made the 400 mile trip in just over six hours.  Can’t complain.  Upon closer examination, I was impressed with Ohio’s traffic ticket.  It included road conditions, traffic conditions, the exact spot of my infraction, omits my weight, called me white, and even said I was only going 78.  Nice guy.  The only problem is I have to pay by certified check or money order.  Now really.  That seems excessive.  But, then again, so was my speed.

Getting caught for speeding bothers me for a lot of reasons.  It makes me feel stupid.  I have no one but myself to blame.  I feel like I lost the game with the law.  And mostly because everyone around me is doing it too and I’m the one who got caught.  I don’t mind the officers - they’re just doing their jobs, protecting the public, and above all, making some cash for the city/county/state.  The worst part is if/when your insurance catches up with you.  That’s the real pain in the tailpipe.

I really wish there was more flexibility in the speed limit.  On this particular stretch of Interstate 70 in Belmont County, Ohio, there was little to no traffic.  The road was dry.  The sky was cloudy.  I was operating a safe vehicle.  The interstate is built for you to safely go about 100 when conditions permit.  So why can’t I?  I realize you have to set the speed limit artificially low knowing that everyone will go over it.  But why 65?  How come when I cross the mythical state line into Ohio County, WV, I can go 70 on the exact same road.  Yet when I cross the line again into Pennsylvania, it’s only safe to go 65?  I’m not saying the law should let us drive 95 on the Beltway in the middle of rush hour.  But on a rural interstate, 80 (ahem, 78) isn’t unsafe.  The worst thing I’m doing is burning up gas higher than I could otherwise (but, somehow, my car still gets 35 mpg on long road trips).  West Texas has at least one thing right in that the limit is 80, and I doubt they even enforce it so long as you stay in double-digits.  And if I ever see that "Speed Limit 80" sign, you can be sure you’ll see it here.

Don’t even get me started on the dumb speed cameras Montgomery County installed.  I don’t mind the red-light cameras.  But as Marezy Dotes once put it, "I mind the speed cams because I speed."   Well put.  Enforce laws I don’t break.  That’s easier for me.

Title is from the song "Open Road Song" by Eve 6.

Thursday, February 7, 2008 - 2:45pm - Arlington, VA

After years of living in primary states that never mattered at all (Maryland ‘96, Massachusetts ‘00, Missouri ‘04), suddenly my home is worth something politically in primary land.  The Potomac / Chesapeake / DVM Primary is a mere days away.  With Super Tuesday deciding nothing, Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama are descending on the region and campaigning their little hearts out for our votes.  Of course, with Mitt Romney leaving the campaign trail, and there being a big lack of Evangelical Christians in Arlington, I don’t expect to see any Republicans nearby.

My little street’s peaceful afternoon was shattered by the Clinton campaign.  When I came home this morning around 9, my street already had television microwave and satellite trucks parked near the high school which is hosting the event.  I’m proud to say, a WUSA9 truck was nowhere to be found.  We’re a steel trap like that.  When I poked my head back outside around 2:30pm, the street was a much different place.  Cars were lined up and down 13th Street, as well as 14th and Nelson.  The police had most of the area blocked off.  I think the senator was still a good half hour away from this pep rally.  But man, there were plenty of people flooding down my street on a brisk February day to go to the gymnasium of a school that’s about to be torn down.  And, of course, they were all illegally parked in my permit zone.  I don’t know why the Arlington police weren’t ticketing them.  I’m talking big bucks for the county.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Clinton would draw such a crowd.  She’s a former first lady, fairly respected U.S. senator from a populous state, and has a realistic chance to become the first female president.  I mean, at it’s core, it’s 1-in-3 right now.  I guess what I don’t understand is the passion.  I don’t understand what’s keeping these people - who, in theory, have jobs or lives or something that they normally do during the day - in line for over an hour to go through a security check to see something in person they could have seen on TV at home.  Yes, I get the concept of seeing someone/something in person, especially something/someone that is historic.  This is coming from someone who religiously attends Marlins-Nationals games in 90° weather.  And I know this is Washington DC, where a great slow-night conversation starter is "I hate/love President Bush." 

Maybe it’s political passion that I don’t quite understand.  I pass this car on the right nearly every day along 14th Street North.  I haven’t noticed it in the 2+ years I’ve lived here.  However, as soon as those Obama plates went on, I noticed it.  I see it every day.  I’m pretty sure those plates came along before the Iowa Caucus.  That’s passion.  Here’s long-term (well, a year at least) support for a guy who most people pegged for a graceful but quick exit from the national political scene in ‘08.  In our car-loving culture, getting vanity plates to profess your love for something is a big commitment.  Like one towards a vacation spot or sports team.  I don’t understand the passion towards a politician.  Towards Democracy and Liberty and the Constitution and all that - yes, I get it.  But to one man or woman?  No.  Sports teams and barrier islands, yes.  A politician?  No.

Maybe it’s because with a politician, so much can change in a heartbeat, or at least an election.  I still see Gore/Lieberman stickers around.  Kerry/Edwards stickers are a dime a dozen.  And I know people who have Bush/Cheney stickers on their cars, and while not leaving the Republican party anytime soon, they would rather have their bumper lopped off in a freak accident than keep that sticker there another day.  While that McCain or Obama or Clinton or Paul or Giuliani or Gravel sticker looks good today, next month it might just remind the world that you’re a loser and backed the wrong horse.  And like most political-minded people, you’ve gotten behind another horse instead for now…hopefully one that won’t take a crap on you.  Like those people with the "W" stickers they’ve started to scratch off.

Title is from the song "In a Big Country" by Big Country.  It really may be one of the best and most underrated songs of the ’80s.