In 1961 I was returning home from dropping my girlfriend off at the S.F. airport to return to her college. Coming back over hwy. 152 toward the San Joaquin Valley at about 1 AM, I was rocking along in her mother's '59 Lincoln Continental at about 100 mph. There were no other cars on the road. Eventually in the distance I could see a lone set of tail lights and started tapering off on the speed as I got closer. Sure enough it was a CHP going about 55 mph, so I passed him at between 55 & 60. He instantly lit up the lights, pulled me over & asked how fast I was traveling. I said maybe had gotten up to 70. He said, "Son I patrol this stretch and I know you were running close to 100." So he ended up citing me for 70. It might have been worse if he knew about the open bottle of whisky I had under the seat.

The restaurant at the Copper Queen Hotel in Bisbee, Arizona used to make (maybe they still do) the best pancakes I ever had. As such, my girlfriend at the time, who lived in a small town about 25 miles from there, and I would frequent the restaurant on Sunday mornings to take advantage of the offings.

While at her house one Sunday morning about 9:10 am, we decided that the Copper Queen's pancakes were on this mornings menu. We both knew that breakfast ended there at straight up 10:00 am...Not a minute later, since we had tried in vain, previously, when 2 minutes late. So we knew we would have to rush to make it. She had to get all prim and proper and I had to get fuel for the 930.

We left her house at 9:37 am...23 minutes before the iron doors slammed shut and we would have to make it through the day without those glorious cakes. It took a few minutes to get through her little town until we made it to the open single lane empty highway to Bisbee. I turned the radar detector on and spun that turbo up until the Pcar was doing triple digit speed.

Starting to come over a small rise about 3 miles from Bisbee, my radar detector pegged it's strength lights and growled at me like my Doberman defending her food. I immediately hit the binders as hard as I could, pre-lockup, and slowed down like we were entering Turn 2 at Laguna Seca. Parked there on the other side of the rise was a Bisbee policeman with his radar gun pointed right at us, and I could tell that he just got his first catch of the day.

I drove past him just above the 55 mph speed limit like I was minding my own business but he slowly pulled around to follow at a pretty far distance, anyway. After a couple of miles or so he finally pulled closer and turned his lights on and we pulled over. I knew I was in shyte...I just didn't know how deep it was. Buford T. Justice just sat there in his patrol car for a good five minutes before finally slowly walking up to my window where he hesitated for another 30 seconds to a minute before he even said anything. I knew the longer he sat in that car and the longer he stood at my door without saying anything, that my waders would need to be more than just waist high.

I was looking up at that Sheriff who was wearing a white straw cowboy hat (this guy had to be 6'5" and 250 lbs. of muscle) and he finally says in a slow drawl, "Do you have any idea how fast you were going, boy?" (While I didn't say anything to him, I thought, "Boy?? Who the **** is a boy?? I'm ****** 47 years old and older than you!") I thought, "Wholly shyte"! "Of course I know how fast I was going, I'm in a freaking Pcar, here! The $64,000 question is, at what speed did you catch me??!!"

Before I replied, I hesitated for just a millisecond to replay the whole scenario in my mind in an attempt to make a determination of speed. With some conviction, I said, "I think I was going 67."

Well, at least Buford didn't laugh.

But he looked at me, and once again, hesitated for the longest time before speaking. He said, "Noooooo. You were goinnnggg (and I cringed and clenched my fists as the SOB, once again, hesitated for at least 10 seconds [I swear, he must have gone to acting school] Seventyyyy-Twwooo).

As he said Seventyyyyy-Twwooo, blood rushed back to my head and I was able to unclench my hands, Since I just knew I was going to jail! I was thinking to my self! "Holy shyte, I slowed down 53 mph before he tagged me!!!!"

After all that play drama, he kindly and politely informed me (without hesitation, even) that he would drop the speed on my ticket to 65 mph so I could take advantage of a $25 ticket the City of Bisbee had, termed: "Waste of a Finite Resource" (wasting gas due to speeding) and that said ticket was not even reported to any outside agency or insurance company.

I quietly drove away laughing to myself thinking, "Holy shyte, the damn 930 has some good brakes!!!!"

Needless to say, we didn't get our pancakes.

Actually, you can do Turn 1 at Laguna Flat. You don't even lift for that one.

I had no idea he was even coming. There were no headlights as far as I can see in my rear view mirror r else I would have stopped

You're right! I meant Turn 2...lol