Douglas, Wyoming

It's early and I'm waiting for my hair to dry before heading out for breakfast. Jeana called me last night and informed me that they just had six inches of snow. While it is definitely cooler here, no way could it snow. Then I look toward the mountains and I can see clouds that seem to streak down to the mountain tops. Must be snow. Before heading to Cody I'll check to see if the mountain passes are open. If not, it's the Interstate for me.



Anyway, I thought I'd add a story of an earlier event in this journey of mine:


Roger and Nancy have served me a breakfast of eggs, sausage, biscuits and gravy. I've loaded the car on this crisp, clear Easter morning and I'm feeling good. Zionsville is just a tad north of Indianapolis. In fact, the Red Roof Inn my Roger and I stay at when in Indianapolis is on the road I took to get to Zionsville. So, I'm feeling at home. I know my way around and I know how to get to Champaign-Urbana without looking at the map. I'm off.

Much of the route around Indianapolis looks familiar. And then I come upon the turn off toward Peoria. It doesn't look right and I know that Peoria is too far north for Champaign so I continue on. Next I come on Interstate 70. Familiar name and kind of familiar territory. I take it.


As I cruise along, I begin to realize that none of the scenery is familiar, none says to me that I'm heading to Champaign. I pull off for gas and finally check the map. Oops! I'm heading for St. Louis. No problem. This trip is not defined by time and the day is glorious. I'll just take a country road that connects to the right highway. I like to go off the beaten path anyway.



And it was a wonderful road. Straight, relatively empty, and routed through farmland dressed in spring. I'd pass the occasional church with it's lot full of Easter worshipers, something I found reassuring. I put on the Sons of the Pioneers, an album from my youth that seemed more than appropriate for this occasion. I was sailing along enjoying myself.



While the road ahead of me was empty, coming toward me I saw a couple of cars. Almost at the moment I zipped past, I saw the word "Sheriff" at the same time I saw the flashing lights go on. In my rear view mirror I saw him do a three corner turn and come after me. Busted! And I mean it. I had no idea how fast I was going but I knew it was too fast. There was no denying it. As I got out my license and reached for the registration card, I wondered how much this might cost me. 

The officer came up and asked the standard question, "Do you have any idea how fast you were going?"  I admitted that with the beauty of the day, the great music I had on the radio, and the empty road ahead of me, I really had no idea but I knew I was speeding.  He sternly said, "You were going 73 in a 50 mile an hour zone."  Ouch.  That's got to be an expensive ticket.

He left me to contemplate my fate while he wrote up the ticket.  I sat and wondered if this was going to impact my insurance rates.  Sixty and a speeder.  What a way to start a trip.

When he came back I was ready.  Ready for a ticket, not ready for what he said next.  "I usually ticket anyone going over 70 but it's Easter, so I'm going to let you off with a warning."  Oh, my.  I thanked him most sincerely and as he walked away, started the engine.  I couldn't help but smile.  Sixty, clearly guilty, and I either charmed my way out of a ticket or I was incredibly lucky.  Either way, a day that started gloriously continued to be so.