I used to go to school in a rural area and I drove down long straight or gently curving roads with no traffic on my way home. I had never seen a cop car on my ride home, ever. One day, having a new car, I decided to see how fast I could get it to go. I gunned it up the hill towards the long straightaway, and went flying over the top—literally—wheels in the air.
Of course you know how this story goes. No cops ever? The first time I am flying—going about 90—and you betcha, there’s a cop coming the other way. I’m far down the road when I see him pull a U-ey in my mirror, and turn on his flashing lights. He’s far enough away that I decide to try to get away.
I slam on the brakes, leave rubber on the road as I fishtail into a left turn, and go tearing down the hill towards the lake. In a quarter mile, there’s a Y, and I can’t decide which way to turn until the last second, and as a result, I nearly roll over, but instead slide my care in a 180, and stalling.
Frantically I try to get the car started. I’ve got it started and have just started moving when the cop comes down the other way, hesitating as he passes me, and then continuing on.