I’ll start by saying I believe I’m a pretty decent driver. After all, I’ve been behind the wheel for 52 years so I’ve had a ton of practice. In all that time, I’ve received only two moving violations, better known as tickets. But it’s not like I follow all the rules of the road. In fact, I’m a bit of a speed demon. A lead foot, if you will.

Now don’t get me wrong; I’m no Danica Patrick. But on the freeway, I’m rarely in the slow lane unless I’m exiting. Mostly I go with the flow, as my high school driver’s ed teacher suggested. Can I help it if the flow is going 75 mph? Besides, it’s not like I zigzag between lanes like a ball in a pinball machine.

I have what I consider rather good excuses for my two moving violations. Let’s see what you think. The first happened in my early 20s on my way home from working a night shift. I drove the back way home to avoid the freeway since I was exhausted. A cop pulled me over for going 35 in a 25 mph zone.

I don’t know anyone who actually goes the speed limit in a 25 mph zone, do you? Anyway, I opted to take a driver’s training class to expunge the ticket from my record. It wasn’t half bad since the instructor was a budding comedian. My second ticket came a few short years later, thanks to Sharon.

We were late, of course, so in our rush, Sharon urged me to go into the right-turn-only lane and pass a line of cars. I hesitated but she said, and I quote, “Just go, you won’t get caught!” Consequently, I spent a beautiful, sunny Saturday afternoon in traffic school (sans the comedian) while Sharon romped on the beach.

Wednesday night I ordered takeout at a restaurant in Novato. What does that have to do with anything? Hold on, I’m gettin’ there. When I left the restaurant, I waited for westbound cars to pass by before I crossed over two lanes to head east.

Next thing I knew, a motorcycle raced up on the slope behind me. Talk about speeding. Suddenly a siren blares and red lights flash in my rear-view mirror. Yep, a Novato policeman pulled me over. And from what I hear, the monthly tickets they distribute rival those of a Taylor Swift concert. I’m just sayin’.

After uttering a naughty word to myself, I quickly gathered my license, registration, and insurance card. The officer approached my right side window and shined his flashlight in my eyes. I asked, “Was I not allowed to turn back there?” “No, you were,” he said. “But you turned into my lane and I had to slam on my brakes.”

I was a bit shocked because I had my turn signal on as I entered that lane and he was nowhere in sight. But who am I to argue? Still, I felt like saying, “Hey bud, you were speeding!” But I thought the better of it. Instead, I apologized profusely like a good suck-up does.

For a minute I thought about crying if that could save me from another day in traffic school but I couldn’t conjure up one single tear. I was dry as butterless toast. So he took my information, went back to his motorcycle (probably to check on my nearly stellar record), and then returned with just a warning in hand for “Improper Turning.” Hallelujah!

After my crappy end to 2023 as well as the beginning of 2024, could the tide be turning?!