Coming home from the Coastal Crit I glanced in the rear view mirror to see the pretty, blue, flashing lights. After all was said and done I called J and told her that a cop pulled me over. In the background I could hear her hubby- Dave say, "What, she was driving too slow?"
Ok, so I"m a safety first kinda girl. As a litigation Specialist for a large insurance company I've seen all kinds of ways that people can get messed up, and more messed up is just not something I need. So I try to be safe, always. Yeah, and I race bikes. But like Gilbert told the women's field before our start, he knew that our race would be safe, because if anyone did stupid stuff, that I'd yell at them. (and everyone in the field nodded their heads...)
So this young officer came up to my door and asked me if I knew why he pulled me over. Now I've handled enough police shootings to know that lipping off to a kid with a gun and a badge is a bad thing. It is, trust me. I did have to tell him though that I hadn't a clue why he stopped ME!.
Now if he had pulled over J or Sharon, we would have known, me, no clue.
So there he was peering in the truck and taking a good look and smell and I swear his head snapped back. There were no drugs in my truck. I could have used a hand full of Motrin, but there were none to be had. So I told him that I was a bike racer and all the crap in the Queen Cab was two days worth of living in the truck.
I swear his eyes were watering. Eau du Bike Racer... gets them every time. I usually put my kit in a hazmat bag, but there on the seat next to me were two days worth of jerseys and shorts. Not to mention, little ole' me, sitting there radiating the day's efforts.
Why did he pull me over? Missing registration stickers. What did he do? Let me go. Quickly.
Eau du Bike Racer. We might just have to bottle this stuff up and sell it to the military.