I must admit that I’ve been pulled over numerous times, but I’ve (almost) never received a ticket*.

Lucky? Perhaps. But smart too. (I hope.)

I keep my hands in plain view. I talk nice. I act nice.

When the officer asks for my license, I tell him where I’m going to put my hands to retrieve it.

If  my wallet is in my saddle bag, I tell  him, thus giving him an opportunity to place himself where he can see what I’m doing.

If I’ve been in the saddle for the better part of the day when the stop occurs, I try to treat it as a break from riding, and after the business is done, I attempt to engage the officer in conversation removed from his job. I call that de-stressing — for both of us. I’ll ask him about a decent place to eat or an inexpensive place to stay down the road. Usually he’ll take the time to engage in the banter, sometimes not.

By then, of course, it doesn’t matter.

I can get back on the road with no ticket.

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*Except for that one time north of Valentine, Nebraska back in ’72 while on my way to Vegas. I talked myself into that one. Story to follow.