I decided to go up to Reno with Tony for his track day at Reno-Fernley this weekend. Just one week after the pacific rally, but hey, who needs weekends? But last time I got bored after a few (say 8) hours of hanging out under the ez up trying not to worry about him. (This was the day after Linda Kegewin's awful wreck, too)
So, the answer was for me to ride around and catch up with him later. Sierra trading post, here I come... But of course, I wanted to go to Fallon first. I cursed this plan, but if I didn't go east in the morning, I couldn't be shopping to the west later.
Anyway, fourty-five minutes of riding directly into the low sun of 8am, I come into the limits of Fallon. And as I'm looking for a street sign, I fly right past a police car going the other direction. Ugh. A few miles later, the world's friendliest state trooper pulls me over. And I know I'm had. My speedo registered about 20 over. It got better. I also missed one final slowdown worrying about the policeman behind me. And finally during the -say twenty feet when I registered the correct speed, uh uh. Turns out, miracle of miracles I have the *one* production motorcycle speedometer that registers LOW.
Argggghhh! Even when I thought I was ok, I wasn't.
But I had a nice chat with the officer while he ran my license, registration and -get this- expired insurance card (he handed it back to me and said "I'm just not going to deal with that." We talked about my bike, where I worked and I made him show me where the Overland Hotel was, which is good- because I my guess was halfway across town from its true location. I didn't even remember its proper name and asked him about it as 'some hotel with a Basque restaurant in it."
He was quite pleasant. All in all my second favorite policeman ever (dad still gets top honors, of course) And not because he gave up dealing with me and just gave me a warning either....
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