New Column: I'm whining about a speeding ticket
Thursday, January 17, 2008 10:17 AM PST
By Cal FitzSimmons
Printable version
E-mail this articleI was driving toward Portland just north of Vancouver last fall with my cruise control set at 69 mph. So I wasn’t worried when I saw the two Washington State Patrol cars parked in the median ahead.
One pulled out and chased down the white pickup that moments earlier had blown past me.
Minutes later the speed limit dropped from 70 mph to 60 mph. I tapped on the brake to disengage the cruise control and slowed to 60.
Again, I wasn’t concerned when a few miles later I saw another WSP car in the median ahead. As far as I could tell, the traffic flow didn’t give him much opportunity for ticket writing. I was in the middle lane and the car on my left was going only slightly faster. I no longer had the cruise control on and when I looked down my speed was right at 60 mph.
So, I was surprised when in my rear-view mirror I saw the trooper pull into the south-bound lanes. Seconds later, I was even more surprised when he pulled behind me with his overhead lights on.
When he leaned down to my passenger-side window his first words were “do you know how fast you were going?”
I looked him in the eyes and said “yes.”
I could tell that wasn’t the answer he was expecting. “I clocked you at 73 in a 60,” he said.
“No you didn’t,” I responded.
He stammered something about the accuracy of his radar. But I could hear the uncertainty in his voice. And a little anger. I silently stared at him. As far as I was concerned, I knew he was wrong and he knew he was wrong.
I continued to stare at him as he took my driver’s license, registration and insurance card, and later handed me a ticket for $144.
I’m convinced that if I’d babbled some excuse or acted contrite he would have warned me and sent me on my way.
He knew he was wrong.
Instead, it was a battle of wills. My cold stares vs. his authority.
You don’t win those kinds of battles on the side of an interstate. You go to court. So, that’s what I did in December.
Taking almost half a day off from work to go to court in Vancouver to fight a speeding ticket is a fool’s errand on many levels.
I knew it was going to come down to my word against the trooper’s. I have to admit, some clown standing in front of me arguing with a trooper wouldn’t have much of a chance.
In court, the judge explained to the packed courtroom that pleading not-guilty to a speeding ticket means you are denying you had been speeding. If you’re traveling 61 in a 60 mph zone, you are guilty of speeding.
There were a couple of other options available, the judge explained. I could ask for a deferment, which would mean paying $150 but the infraction would be off my record after a year, if I didn’t receive any more tickets. Or, I could plead mitigating circumstances and likely get the fine reduced.
I weighed the options. Sticking with not-guilty would probably end up with me paying the $144 fine. Just $6 more and I could get it off my record with the deferment. Or, I could offer up some lame excuse and my fairly clean driving record as mitigating circumstances and get the fine cut in half.
But I’m too stubborn for that.
I sat through several futile efforts to beat tickets. Two, however were successful.
The first was some guy with high-end radar detecting equipment. He explained how that equipment operated, the radar system the cop was using and how it’s impossible he was speeding when the radar first hit him.
I think the judge got bored with his technical explanations so she dismissed the ticket just to shut him up.
The second person was a teen girl who had backed her car into the street and caused an accident. She didn’t say a word.
Her father, in his perfectly pressed Marine Corps uniform, did all the talking. He questioned the speed of the driver who had plowed into his daughter’s car. He produced a timeline showing that woman was running late dropping off her kids at school. He had diagrams and photos of the accident scene.
He talked about the “Debris Field,” and the “Go Zone.”
The “Go Zone” is an area he had identified as safe for pulling out of their driveway. If an oncoming vehicle is past the “Go Zone” you wait.
I looked at the girl and wondered about her adherence to the “Go Zone” instructions. Pops hadn’t mentioned the words iPod, cell phone, text messaging, teen indifference, or even teen defiance.
The judge, though, was obviously impressed. She dismissed the ticket before he was halfway through his exhibits.
I knew the routine by the time it was my turn. I had no chance.
I bit my tongue as the judge read the officer’s report on my ticket. It was like most of the others I’d heard that day. He’d verified the accuracy of the radar with some sort of tuning fork that morning. He’d recorded my vehicle traveling at a speed of 73 mph. He added that traffic was light. I guess to prove he couldn’t have nailed the wrong car.
I told her the officer was mistaken. I told her traffic was not light. Perhaps he did point his radar gun at the wrong car. Or something else. Bottom line: I wasn’t speeding. I didn’t say the trooper was a liar. I didn’t say he was crooked. I just said he was mistaken.
She asked if my speedometer might be faulty. I told her I had since paced my car with another car and it was not. She mentioned that the other car could be wrong, as well. I conceded that point. I was tempted to say I should have tested it with a tuning fork.
She gave me a “that’s all you got?” look and ordered me to pay the $144 fine. She then explained how I could appeal, if I chose. I thanked her, told her I had come to court as a matter of principle and I would not appeal.
She gave me a look that said “leave the $144 downstairs, but feel free to take your principles home with you.”
Which I did.
Past Month's Most Commented Stories