Back to Bussard Lake: Our 14th Annual Road Trip (Part 1)

Last year's Annual Road Trip would have been our 13th.  They say that 13 can be an unlucky number and it definitely was last year.  Fate, or whatever mechanism controls this ancient superstition, certainly did a number on our May, 2020 road trip to Jackson Hole and Priest Lake.  I mean, you sort of expect bad luck to come in the form air strikes or bad weather but did Fate really need to send a raging global pandemic to ruin our 13th Annual Road Trip?

For this year's road trip we decided not to tempt Fate. Wayne and I would stay at Bussard Lake with Rich and Yvette and and restrict our fishing activities and other diversions to local lakes.  The one exception we made was a day trip to Priest Lake in nearby Idaho. However, fickle Fate was up to its tricks again and decided to throw a wicked curve ball at us. Let me explain.

We usually let The Netman (Wayne) drive because he gets car sick if he is a passenger.  Now Wayne has a tendency to be a bit heavy-footed on the accelerator, especially on mountainous roads.  As Rich had recently acquired a powerful V8 Toyota Tundra pick-up truck, I knew that Wayne was eager to test its G-force capabilities.  Whether for this reason or not, it was decided that we would travel in Yvette's more comfortable Toyota RAV 4 which doesn't have a dog seat in the back, stray worms from the last fishing trip or left over oil rags and wet boots.

We set out for Priest Lake with Wayne driving, Rich as co-pilot, and me and Yvette in the back seat.  We entered the town of Priest River after about a 1.5 hour drive.  As we entered the town we were commenting on various features and just generally chatting.  All of a sudden there is a blaring siren and blue lights flashing behind us.  I looked back, not thinking that it was anything to do with us.  We were certainly not going fast. On the contrary, we were just going with the flow of other traffic. We were all a bit shocked when the cop car was right up our backside and obviously only interested in stopping us!  What on earth had we done wrong? 

We pulled over and waited.  I glanced out of the back window and couldn't believe that there were now two police cars parked behind us in battle formation.  A big, slow-moving cop ambled up to Wayne's window just like they do in the movies when there are dead bodies in the trunk.  "License and registration." A man of few words. Wayne hands over his Washington D.C. license--the Bad Washington as Rich calls it.  Rich hands over the car registration.  

I'm thinking they will not be too happy with a D.C. license after an armed insurrection failed to keep their big orange guy in power.  Idaho is Trump country--big time. The cop ambled back to his car to check whether this D.C. driver was a serial killer, child molester, or worse, a socialist. "I didn't think I was speeding," Wayne said somewhat forlornly.  We all agreed.  We really weren't speeding.  "I didn't see any speed signs," I added, just to cheer Wayne up.

Minutes passed.  I snuck a quick look out of the back window.  I wanted to take a photo for the blog but didn't want them to see me pointing anything at them--cops tend to get the wrong idea when they see baby dolls or squirt guns. Talking of baby dolls, it suddenly occurred to me that here were three old geezers with a young woman in the back--did they think we were trying to kidnap Yvette? Blimey, interstate trafficking popped into my mind.  Thank goodness Wayne was an outstanding lawyer--he would be able to handle all this stuff with some verve and finesse.

The cop came back even more slowly this time.  He was packing a big gun and looking grim.  Yup, it looked more than likely that interstate trafficking was going to be our crime and undoing.  "Sir..." he said rather slowly, like Wayne might not speak English coming from D.C. "...you were doing 49 miles an hour in a 35 mile area." 49 mph? No way. Wayne calmly weighed this up. "I don't think I saw any signs back there, officer." Attaboy, Wayne, I thought.  You give it him.  There were no speed signs, I was sure of that.  Damn these small towns preying on us innocent tourists. 

"Sir, from the moment I first saw you, you passed through five speed signs." Omigod, could that be true?   I was waiting for Wayne to come back with some zinger; but before he could say anything else the officer was saying something about a $150 fine for speeding and a $130 fine for not having the car registered--the registration was five months out of date! Holy Bananas, you could buy a second hand car for $280.  At this point, I think Rich muttered something like: "Did I forget to register the car?"

Now, I obviously did not get the full import of the conversation because I was tucked away in the back of the car behind Wayne.  I thought the cop said that he was going to save us $230 but it would appear, ex post facto, that the cop said he going to save us the whole $280--in other words he was not going to fine us at all.  I am retrospectively relieved because the earlier version of the blog stated otherwise. I stand corrected. 

Even so, it would seem that we had been speeding in an unregistered vehicle?  Not good.  I had almost been expecting the cop to tell Wayne to get out of the car and spread his legs but something happened that I still don't understand to make the cop more affable. Well, I thought, at least the cop was being decent and polite and giving us a break on the speeding and registration thing.  

As the cop passed Wayne his license through the window he said: "I've been on the force up here for 12 years but I think this is the first time I have seen a Washington D.C. license."  

OK, I thought, he's being friendly so its not such a bad bust.  All Wayne had to do was say: "Thanks officer for your courtesy and for the break on the speed and registration.  Much appreciated." 

But he didn't.

"You know, officer, you may be interested to know that I am a fairly prominent lawyer in Washington D.C."  

What was that meant to be? I couldn't see the cop's expression but I was thinking that this was not the best thing to say in all the circumstances.  In my experience, cops don't usually like lawyers. I can't quite remember the chronology of all the exchanges but I do remember the cop asking us where we were going. 

Someone, maybe Rich, said that we were going to Hill's Resort for lunch. This was before I discovered that it was a really swanky place with red umbrellas on the lake shore and people flying in on small seaplanes or  cruising around in big speedboats.  This did not sound like something our cop was going to appreciate at all.  

As if to pour gasoline on the fire, Wayne casually asks: "Would you like to join us for lunch officer?"  The cop sort of backed back a little and said something like "No thanks" or "We can't do that."  Good grief, I am thinking, this sounds like we are trying to bribe him or something. We were going to go down for life at this rate.  

By now I was beginning to panic.  We badly needed to change the subject.  I had been worried about interstate human trafficking but now we had a seeming threat to sue the Priest River Police Department and attempted bribery of a law enforcement officer.  We needed to stop any further deterioration in our exchanges with this officer. I am right behind Wayne so the cop can't see me at all.  I lean over towards Yvette and address him from near floor level, looking up and around Wayne.  I probably did not look quite as impressive and imposing as I had intended. In fact, I might have looked downright loony.

"Good day, officer. You know, us three old guys are all over 70 but in our glory days we used to shoot the rapids on the Lochsa River down in southern Idaho." I might have added some other comforting and diversionary words, hoping that he might be distracted by my British accent.  I was fairly convinced that this intervention would make the cop feel that we were almost locals, loved Idaho and that all thoughts of prominent lawyers from D.C. offering free lunches would be eradicated.  

Instead, the cop just looked down at me on the floor in utter amazement and said nothing.  My intervention had fallen completely flat.  Boy, this was embarrassing.  Now he probably thought us three guys were taking drugs or in the early stages of dementia.  Why couldn't I just keep my big mouth shut?

But my lame attempt at currying favor with the cop did sort of bring the whole conversation to an end.  Rich said he would get onto the registration as soon as we got home and the cop told us to have a good visit and left it at that.  Of course, as soon as he was gone we all broke down into nervous laughter.  Rich immediately started ribbing Wayne about being a "fairly prominent lawyer in D.C."  And I got on his case about asking the cop if he wanted to join us for lunch.  "What were you thinking, Wayne?" 

I think it was Rich who said that my contribution to the conversation was not helpful.  I attempted to defend myself by saying that I was trying to change the subject and stop any further provocative statements.  "You think that guy even knows where the Lochsa River is? No, Newport, it was just blatant attention seeking on your part."  

I had to admit (to myself, of course, not out loud) that it was absolutely attention seeking. I had not been part of the drama up to that point and badly needed to say something.  I wanted in on the act and to make my mark.  Why should Wayne have all the spoken parts in this soap opera. I needed to be heard, godammit.  But the danger had passed.  We were free and looking forward to lunch at our swanky resort--without any police presence!

One final admission before we leave this unfortunate incident behind us.  We had to drive back through the town of Priest River on the way home.  We counted one, two, three, four, FIVE 35 mph speed limit signs in the town.  How did we miss all those signs?  I have no idea.  I guess we were lucky not to end up in jail after all. 

The blog on our 14th Annual Road Trip (Part 2) will continue below.