Speeding & Roadkill
Last week Chad and I took some vacation time and went to visit our friends and family in Tyler. We arrived at our parents' house late on Saturday night and left on Tuesday night.
Since my brother drove down there, I didn't have my own car to go driving around in. My dad, fickle man that he is, finally settled on a black 2006 Ford Mustang GT, some months ago. Short story even shorter, I borrowed it on Tuesday afternoon to go visit some friends. A little before ten, I was on my way back to our parents' house. Having never driven his car more than around the block before, I was somewhat paranoid driving it anyway. Sure, I had relaxed by that point in the day, having had a little more experience with it, but I still wasn't used to the car. Also, his speedometer is labeled only every 20 miles, whereas mine is every 10. In other words, it's hard to see exactly how fast you're going, even more so when you're extra-worried about getting in a wreck. Furthermore, the Mustang has quite a few more ponies under the hood than my Chevy Malibu.
On the way home, I found myself inadvertently speeding on a few occasions, easily topping 70 in a 60 mph zone. Then I turned onto the new outer loop, which does have a speed limit of 70. I'd never driven on it and had only once, in the day, even been on it. I was out of my element in a car that wasn't mine on an unfamiliar street, in the dark. Shortly after coming up over a slight hill I saw a flash of lights on the one other car on that stretch, which was coming from the opposite direction. No, these were not headlights; it was a state trooper. He passed me, turned around, and I promptly pulled over.
I've been pulled over before, back when I was a teenager. This time I was far more calm. I didn't know exactly how fast I had been going, but I knew it couldn't have been that bad, and I thought I had a pretty good case, what with the borrowed car and unfamiliar road. Indeed, I was pretty calm, though I did accidentally start to hand him my credit card when he asked for my license. What can I say, I was still a little frazzled. Then he asked for my proof of insurance. My proof of insurance is in my glove compartment, just like all other sane people. And so that's where I looked. After at least two minutes of looking through every scrap of paper in there, I finally check the center console, where I found the missing document. Who keeps it there?
Turns out I was going exactly 70 mph. Also turns out that the speed limit drops five at night time. I got a warning and an admonition to drive carefully.
My family got a good laugh at my incident, but then it was time for Chad and me to leave. He was driving on the highway to the Interstate when we saw what was, I later found out, the first live armadillo Chad had ever seen. The car behind us surely saw the same armadillo, but it was most decidedly not alive at that point. The stupid thing was walking across the busy highway when we came upon it. Chad managed only to make sure he went directly over it, avoiding the tires. Unfortunately, Chad does not drive some high truck but rather a ground-hugging Honda Civic. The sound when we hit was startling for us in the car, and I suspect shell-shattering for our departed friend.