I meant to note earlier the continuation of my string of traffic stops in New Hampshire. This time, I had H, sweet B, and Jasper the Wonderdog in the car, and I was guilty, guilty, guilty.

We were heading back to New Hampshire from a weekend at home in Connecticut, along the dark and nearly deserted Route 9 between Keene and Concord. It was late, we were tired, and we just wanted to be there.

Sailing along well above the posted limit at a steady 70 (113 kph), on a rare wide and straight stretch, I saw a car pull out onto the road ahead of us and turn in our direction. He passed, and in my rear view mirror, I saw the flashing lights go on and the cruiser do a quick 180 to chase. No question who he was after. I pulled over immediately.

A very polite young man materialized at my window, introduced himself as Sergeant X of the Hillsboro PD, and asked me if I knew why he had pulled me over. “Yes,” I said as I proffered license and registration, “I do.”

“Where are you headed?” he asked, and peered in to see H sitting next to me. “Home,” I said pitifully, conveying the fact: “We just want to get home.”

He took my papers and started back for his car. H called, “Mind if I get out to check on the baby in the back seat?” Sergeant X did a little double-take, and allowed that would be fine.

When he returned, no doubt this time noticing the seemingly moribund dog in the rear, he handed back my docs, and said, “Well, you weren’t going super-fast, but, you know, the limit here is 55. Just take it easy. Get home safe.” I thanked him for his kindness, and he said, “I’ll just sit here behind you with my lights on while she takes care of the baby so no one runs up your backside.” And he did.

Protect and serve. Perfect, Sergeant X. We drove at 55 all the way home.

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