six

I have more questions about certain daily rituals and habits, but Kim has requested fewer bathroom posts. So today I write about the number Six. Six is the number.

I don’t know why I love the number six, but I do. Whenever my kids ask me one of those random questions kids ask, like “Dad, how many miles till we get to San Diego” or “How much snow do we have in our backyard” or “Dad, guess what?” I invariably answer “Six!”

It’s a hoot. I guess you have to be there.

But since I moved to Suncrest almost 4 (not six) years ago, I’ve become less enamored of the number six, namely because in less than 4 years I’ve received SIX tickets from the local police, within my local environs. In fact, I think you could see my house from each location.

I’m not a rebel. I’m not a crazy driver. I’m as normal as apple pie, steady like the tide. And yet, I’ve had more tickets in the last 3.5 years than in the 15 previous combined, by large margin.

You judge:

1. On the North side of Suncrest, a 4 mile, 10% 4 lane road. I generally go about 55mph or 60mph down the hill, because I’ve replaced my brakes too many times in the last 4 years.

Unfortunately, the speed limit on this luge run is FORTY miles per hour. The cop was actually apologetic about giving me my ticket for going 62.

2. I dropped the kids off at the ski bus in Alpine, and promptly got pulled over for rolling a stop sign. At 7:30am on a Saturday. I’m pretty sure there were no other cars around for about a mile. This guy was a prick. “Do you know why I pulled you over?” I love that. As I was answering, the ski bus rolled the stop sign next to us, and all the kids in it were hanging out the window looking at me. Yay me.

3. The south side of Suncrest isn’t quite as steep as the north side, but it’s also way easier to just let it roll, especially on a motorcycle. Although, this day I wasn’t on a motorcycle. But I can hit 50mph on my bicycle without trying too terribly hard on the last curve into the straightaway at the bottom, and in a car, well, it’s hard NOT to go 60. But the city limit sign is just after the curve. And a half mile farther down, in a side street, the cop sits with his laser gun. He got me from almost a mile away. I need a cloaking device.

4. Last Spring, just as the weather turned nice again, I broke out the motorcycle for the long commute to work. Yes, before I had registered the damn thing. Oh, and before I had re-activated my insurance. But jeez, first time out.

On the return commute, CLIMBING the north side, last curve before the summit, he got me. He went on and on about how he should be impounding my bike, but because HE was a motorcycle guy, he was going to just give me like 3 tickets. I say, if he WAS a motorcycle guy, he’s not anymore.

5/6. Within a month of each other, south side, two consecutive stop signs (different days), I go down to Highland to pick up the kids from friends’ houses, and I get busted for rolling stop signs. Both times, after 10pm, which is an hour after most people in Utah go to bed. The first guy says “you stopped, but only after you saw me,” which, in my book, still means I stopped. Except I hadn’t really, but what, was he making small talk? Shut up and give me my ticket, I’m not you’re friend. And the second guy says “um, I reviewed the video tape, and you definitely didn’t stop.”

Reviewed the video tape? They have instant replay now? That tears it, I’m totally getting myself a challenge flag.