Boulder Dash

I just got back from yet another quick two-day trip to Boulder City, Nevada to visit my family. Boulder City is a sleepy little town, resting along the highway that runs from Las Vegas to Hoover Dam. It's one of those quaint, charming little communities whose main source of revenue is derived from the issuing of speeding tickets to tourists from other states. The city government facilitates this booming economic gravy train by setting city speed limits that are so low that it would be a better idea to just get out of your car and push it through town—you'd get around much faster, and you can't get a speeding ticket if you're not actually driving the car, right? (Actually, I'm not so sure about that. As always, consult your lawyer before beginning any car-pushing regimen).

One thing I noticed is that, during my trip, I was adhering pretty closely to the established speed limits. I have a pathological fear of being pulled over and cited by the police. I'm not sure why this is. Maybe I just don't trust people who carry night sticks and firearms, and who subsist on a diet consisting almost entirely of sugary donuts and massive quantities of caffeine-rich coffee drinks (actually, now that I put it that way, my phobia seems completely rational).

Whatever the reason for it, this cautious attitude has served me well. In all of my 18 years of driving (that's right—I started driving when I was 11 years old) I have received only one speeding citation. It was for speeding in a school zone one fine morning about about 5 years ago, right there in lovely Boulder City. When I was pulled over, I didn't even know that I was in a school zone. I never saw the school zone sign, and the complete absence of any baggy-trousered young people anywhere within my visual purview lulled me into a false sense of security. Also, I was so busy thinking about where I could get some Chinese food at such an early hour that I failed to notice the great big high school building that was to my immediate right. (Incidentally, the legal speed limit for a school zone in Boulder City is approximately the same speed that one's vehicle would travel if it were, say, placed in neutral and pushed by two very determined hamsters).

The officer who issued the citation was riding a motorcycle, and it is a scientifically established fact that a seal has a better chance of escaping the jaws of a hungry killer whale than an errant motorist has of talking his way out of a ticket with a motorcycle cop. In keeping with the common practice of all traffic enforcement officers, this one asked me a number of questions that seemed calculated to confuse me and, possibly, to trick me into confessing that I was actually smuggling huge bags of heroin, or conflict diamonds, or bootlegged DVDs of Ernest Scared Stupid in the trunk of my Geo Prism. Since I was most definitely not doing at least two of these things, his ploy failed to rattle me in the least. I was issued a ticket and a stern talking to and sent my merry way, pushing my car all the way to the city limits.