Four more points and I lose my driver's license


Back in July, 2004 the family was headed to a dance recital in a nearby town. We didn't know exactly where it was, so we were slowly making our way along tree-lined streets in a quiet neighborhood. At the end of each block we would stop, look around, and proceed to the next one if we didn't see a high school looming in the distance. We did this maybe five times. At the sixth intersection, I stopped, eased the Sienna out, and was looking for the high school off to the right of me. Suddenly, without warning, we were hit directly side-on by another van. No horn, lights, skid marks or anything. Flat-out smacked in the side. In what seemed like an eternity the car rolled over on its side and continued rolling until it ended upside-down.

We were all hanging upside-down in our seat belts, stunned by what just happened. Hit by a Dodge Caravan, lawn-green color, filled with people. Eventually with some help from local residents we all got out of the car safely. The police, who had been investigating another accident at the next corner up from us, didn't take long to arrive.
Not actually the car at the scene of the accident. Actually the car, but we were pretty busy at the time and not taking pictures.

The police immediately separated the passengers from each van and started interviewing each driver. It was probably sheer luck of the draw that I was assigned the "bad cop." "Those Sienna vans are pretty hot. I suppose you had it floored and were careening through the neighborhood. Did you stop at any of the stop signs? So how fast, honestly, do you think you were going when you ran that stop sign?" OK, I exaggerate, but only slightly.  I was probably streaking through the intersection at maybe 5-10 miles per hour when we were hit broadside, so I wasn't getting good vibes from the fuzz right off the bat. I never saw the car that hit me until after leaving the upside-down van. We were really slammed and rolled and feeling pretty shook up and a little lucky that nobody was really hurt.

Then the good cop mentioned to me that I had just had an accident at the worst spot in town. There had been one per month over the year. Limited visibility was one problem ( huge tree overhanging the intersection) that made it nearly impossible to see anybody coming from the other direction. It was also the only intersection on that stretch that didn't have four-way stop signs. I walk over to the other driver to ask if everybody was OK in their car. Fortunately they were. He says to me "I'm sorry. I mighta been going a little fast."

Finally the local policemen comes over with the pronouncement. My fault. Failure to get out the way of a local driver. There go the first four points. I wasn't too worried at the time, since we get twelve a year here in Wisconsin, and I hadn't had more than a couple of fender-benders or people running into the car while it was stationary for nearly forty years.  The good news was the fine was for only $77.  After my son was cleared for any problems I felt fortunate that none of the family members had any serious health problems from the crash. I let this one go psychologically. I'll take the four points.

Fade to January 6, 2005. Saturday. I had been ferrying kids around all day, mostly to and from the mall. There's a street in our city that has been a radar trap as long as anyone can remember. It's divided, wide, only a few crossings, no traffic. The Madison cops have been sitting on it for years. Just as I turned onto the street (7:00 P.M.), my daughter announces that she wants to go ten miles east and have me pick them up her and her friends three hours later. Then I get to drive them all home around maybe ten o'clock, if they're ready. I'm tired, and arguing with the kids as I drive down Segoe Road, not thinking much about radar traps.

I can't believe that after all these years the local cops have been sitting in the same spot. They are! They get me! The cop parked behind me turns on his spotlight, then takes at least five minutes to approach the car. The crime enunciated: forty-five in a thirty miles per hour zone. Would I like to see the radar gun myself? (No, but I have some excellent ideas for the gun....) Another four-pointer. I have not only one police car with flashing lights behind me but also another within moments.  I guess balding white guys in their late fifties carting around teenagers on Saturday night have a hard-core reputation, and muscle is available if needed.

Maybe this guy moved his family and kids onto the street when he was assigned to the permanent speed trap back on the day that a permanent city revenue shortfall was detected. He probably has a permanent speed gun mounted in his front lawn inside the mouth of a fake deer, and a buzzer that rings for the rookie cop whenever they get another sucker. After four or five tickets the rookie can go home and Mr. Speed Trap can tuck the wife and kids into bed and watch "Cops" reruns in the living room until the beer runs out.

He's probably bringing his kid up to detect speeders while standing right alongside the fake deer. Or maybe even dressed up as the fake deer. "Son, what's your eyeball estimate on that gray van? Here, let me check in with the radar gun. WHOOPS, pointed it the wrong way... Tell mom no more kids!"

Now that I have seven months to wait before starting over with a new crime wave, thoughts turn to the pleasurable experience of not driving for a while. The wife is giving me stern looks as I discuss the idea of running out somewhere and getting caught doing about seventy in a forty-five. Maybe 100 in a 10 mile-per-hour zone! That should do it! Actually I'm certain I can't get the Mazda Minivan that high...Rats!

Not only would I not have to drive anybody around any more, my wife would have to drive ME around!!! And the kids!!! No more trips to the Mall for me, or to distant towns to visit casual best friends. No more trips three blocks away to bring them home because they didn't want to walk that distance. I'm getting into this...I could get to know the local bus drivers by their first names. I could get transfer tickets left and right and ride all over the place. Sorry mom, love to drive the kids to school this morning and pick them up in the afternoon, but gotta ride that accursed bike to work five days a week, or take the evil bus...That's it: I've made up my mind...

Hey fuzz! Come and get me! Try and catch me! Gimme four more points!

April 24, 2005

A friend at work told me an interesting story. Her husband had been in two wrecks over a short period of time and was assessed the standard 10% guilt for being in a position to be hit by another car. That is the lowest risk factor that one can be assigned. It is the Wisconsin version of completely innocent. Even so, he was told he would lose his license unless he went to a tech school and took a class in safe driving. He drives his brand-new car to the class location, parks it in the lot, takes his half-day class, and returns to the parking lot. Somebody rear-ended his car and took off while he was taking his class!

Needless to say he didn't report the third accident. Who knows what would have happened to him?

Three more months and I get to start from ground zero on the point scale. Four years and three months and they clean out the citations from my permanent record. I can hardly wait...

The Madison Belt line is a 4 and 6-lane divided highway. It is the main thoroughfare used by commuters to move from the East side to the West side of town. Traffic is always heavy. There are seven jurisdictions along the way. Only recently did all seven agree to cooperate so that somebody could actually be issued a ticket on the belt line before they made it to the next jurisdiction. There is one stretch of road where it's not uncommon to see people in the 80 mph range, buzzing along.

Just this last Wednesday the State Patrol decided to put together a concerted effort to get people to slow down over this roughly seven-mile stretch of road. Guess how many people they pulled over? Three hundred and forty-three! Needless to say old "one man crime wave" did not go near the area that day.

Yesterday I had some business that took me onto the belt line. I set the cruise control to 55 mph, the maximum limit, and carefully weaved back and forth so that nobody would run over me from behind. The only explanation I've come up with is that everyone figured that the State Patrol wore themselves out on Wednesday and were recuperating from writer's cramp and other maladies related to pulling that many people over to the side.