On my way home from dropping The Pony at his grandma's house this morning, I was cruising along the newest section of my drive, a strip behind the local high school where police are wont to frequent. The speed limit there is 30 mph. I mostly obey it, because...well...the police are wont to frequent that area.
This is a bit of a speed trap. The speed-trappingest speed trap that ever speed-trapped. Well. Except for that little municipality by my bank, right off the highway, where they have about two roads to patrol, and the speed limit is 20 mph.
So, I'm tooling along in T-Hoe, at 31 mph (there's a little bit of rebel in everyone, don't you think?), reading the electronic sign for the school, which shows date, time, temperature, and days of registration for various classes. As I rounded the slight curve, I saw a three-car pile-up in one of the two preferred speed-trapping alcoves off the road proper. But wait! It wasn't a pile-up, exactly. There were two police cars, one a marked black-and-white, and the other an unmarked dark blue. They were book-ending a little white compact car. One officer stood talking to a lady in shorts over by the passenger side. Inside the car sat an older woman in the passenger seat.
At first I thought that gal must have really been hauling butt if those coppers had caught her so quickly, barely out of the roundabout. Then I saw the second policeman, kneeling by the front passenger tire. HE WAS CHANGING A FLAT TIRE!
Yep. Not only did he have that car jacked up, taking off the tire, but he had done so with that old woman sitting inside so she didn't have to stand and wait.
Backroads's Finest. Protecting and serving.