Maria and I decided to go skiing at the crack of dawn last Sunday. It was bracing to get out into the cold just as the sky was turning pink behind the trees. I poked along the expressway out to her house. Easy-going.
But shortly after I arrived I was stunned to realize I’d forgotten my ski boots. Suddenly this old lady was burning rubber, back on the highway. Radio on loud, listening to a discussion by theologians on Reinhold Niebuhr. I got off 490 at East Rochester and had zipped through the deserted streets toward Penfield. I’d almost made it when I noticed flashing lights behind me… and was that a siren I heard???
I pulled over. I sat till the cop ran my license plate. He came over. I gave him my line about the beautiful morning. “And you had your radio on?” he asked. He had been chasing me with his siren on for several blocks. I was going 45 in a 30 mph zone. High crimes. I explained about my ski boots. He checked out my driver’s license and registration. He let me go without a ticket.
I must always speed through these streets because 30 mph now felt very s-l-o-w.
Anyway, we finally got to the slopes and had a great four hours in the 28-degree sunshine.