The cool dark bathed my car, giving way only reluctantly to the sporadic streetlights of the small town I was entering.  My speed dropped, the shush of the tires growing gentle and small after miles of constant sound.  I glanced at my nav on the dash; it directed me to drive on this road into the small town, then turn left and follow another out the other side, back onto the highway, to let the miles slip by, unremarked in the dark, once again.

The hour was advanced, but not truly late, being only about eleven or midnight.  I cruised past a gas station, and was surprised to see it open, and offering a good price even.  The gas gauge was still reassuringly high, but considering the hour and the miles yet to go, I decided to err on the side of caution.  I put on my blinker, and pulled into a side street to perform a semi legal u turn.  I saw blue lights flashing in the darkness ahead as I pulled off the main road.  Someone was not having a good night.

Once back on the main road, I retraced my steps to the gas station, and turned off into the lot.  A sheriff car slid past me, making a turn in the opposite direction.  That was two, must be a busy night.  I briefly ruminated on my old superstition that it was best to see cops in threes.  It was a shaky superstition based on an old observation of tow trucks.  When I first started driving, I saw two tow trucks, and then my car broke down, and I saw the third.  This happened twice, and had more to do with the state of my car in those days than some mystical “group of three” thing.  I hadn’t noticed the phenomenon in ages, but old habits die hard, and this one was only now giving its last gasp.  Two cop cars meant only an unusually busy night in this small town.  I didn’t even know the name of the place.  A brief widening of the road and the lights, then I would be off into darkness again.  After gas.  I pulled into the gas station lot.

Blue lights sprang into life, strobing the darkness around me.  Startled, I glanced into the rear view mirror.  Surely not me….

But there he was, lights shattering the darkness, fencing me in against the pumps.  Seemed a little like overkill to me, but whatever.  I rolled past the first pump, stopping at the second to leave room for someone to use the pump behind me.  Only courtesy.  I ran my mind over my actions.  Was it that questionably legal u-turn?  I reviewed the contents of my car.  My food, and my dog, no problem there.  A roll of cash I had no desire to donate to crooked cops.  Hmm, a bottle of herbal decongestant I had legally purchased in Canada, several years ago.  I remembered hearing that it had been illegal in the states for some years now.  A grey area of the law, to be sure.  Perhaps it was a good time to flex my rights, and politely refuse to consent to a search.  The cop could always fabricate some “reasonable suspicion” to toss my car, but refusing consent would give me a legal leg to stand on.  I was not so rich that I could afford to give up that cash without a protest.

I shut off my car and pocketed the keys in preparation to step out of my vehicle and lock it behind me, to resist being strong-armed into a search.  The cop fussed with his dash before stepping out of his cruiser to advance cautiously on my car.  I had the window rolled partway down, and I turned to his approach.  As he drew up to my shoulder, I looked back at him with my best harmless look.

“I take it you aren’t here to pump my gas.”  I ventured, offering up a wry smile to let him know I was joking, and not actually that dumb.

The officer stopped, a momentary incredulous look passing over his face.

“No ma’am, I am not.”  Precious few appreciate my humor, it seems.

He stalked up even with me, and I peered out at him from my half open window.  If you roll your window down all the way, a pushy officer may stick his head inside and try to spot some evidence to justify searching your car.  Or smell some evidence.  Half down is plenty of room to talk.  The officer let his eyes rove over my car, over the few things visible.  I had all my gear packed into three rubbermaid bins across the back seat, and my passenger seat held only my snacks, water and ipod.  My computer was safely out of sight in my backpack, hidden down on the floorboards and covered with a dark sweatshirt.  With any luck, it looked like a shadow to the casual glance.  If they don’t see it, they won’t break into your car to steal it, or fabricate a reason to search it.  Did you know the US airport security can seize your laptop and search it, if you take it on a flight with you?  They don’t do it very often, but they can.

Dog peered back at him calmly from where she lay on her bed in the back cargo area.  I peered up at him from the drivers seat.  His eyes failed to turn anything up.

“Do you have family in the area, ma’am?” he asked me, his eyes wondering what the hell a canadian was doing in his town.

Justify yourself.  Just don’t give a reason to be asked more questions.  Bad enough I had purple dreads and out of state plates.  This is a tricky one, but I get practice.  Not usually at blue light point, but still.

“Oh, I am on my way to see the redwoods.  I hear they are quite spectacular!”  I smiled.  Pay no mind to the fact that I am currently south of the redwoods, and that I would have most likely passed thru the redwoods already, to get this far south.  You see only a harmless tourist.  These are not the droids you are looking for.

“Did you know you have a headlight out?” he gruffed at me.  Why yes, I did.  The last cop to mention it was in Edmonton at a checkstop.  Months ago.  I had since tried to replace the bulb, and discovered it to be a wiring problem I hadn’t had the patience to sort out.  It was gonna take some time with a multimeter and a soldering gun to tease that mess out, some day.

“A headlight?  Why, I swear I just had one replaced.  I suppose they will burn out….  Thank you for telling me!”  I gushed at him, all smiles and inoffensive cheer.  He gave me another hard look.  I smiled and watched him with a benevolent air of helpfulness and harmlessness.

“How about license and registration?”  He asked me.  I chirped my assent and reached towards my glove box.

“Let me see, I think I have my registration right here.”  I narrated my action.  There have been cases to people being shot just for reaching for their identification too fast, or in a suspicious nature.  Of course, that happened to black guys in cities, but small town cops can make life real hard too.  The likelihood of this cop shooting me was slim to none, but I figure it is best to treat all cops like one might treat a big dog when you may be trespassing.  They bite sometimes, and you never know if someone else just kicked the dog, putting him in a foul mood.  Or if that dog just gets off on biting people.

I passed my license and registration to the cop.  I briefly gave thanks that I had remembered to renew my registration before I left Alberta last.

“I will be right back.” he said.

“Do you mind if I pump my gas while you check that out?”  I asked him as he turned to leave.  He wouldn’t find anything on my record, if he could even access my record.  I have heard that it takes hours to get an answer on a foreign ID check, past whether the person in question is wanted for any warrants in the USA.  I was pretty sure I was good there, as I think I would have remembered warrant worthy things happening if they had.  And the border guard had let me cross, if after a rather long wait and question period.  Might as well put my time stopped to good use, and let him know how very un-guilty I was.

He looked nonplussed for a moment.

“I will be right back.” he repeated.  I took that as a “no, if I knew what was good for me”.  I wondered if he was not legally allowed to restrict my movement without officially holding me for questioning.  A good way to test if the officer actually has something on you, or is merely fishing for you to make a mistake is to ask if you are being detained, or if you are free to go.  If you aren’t being detained, shut your mouth and quietly walk away.  So I have been told by sources I trust.  (The flexyourrights.org people.)  How it actually works in practice I have not found out, and hopefully it stays that way.

He took the foreign ID back to his cruiser, and got in.  I rolled my window up to only a crack at the top.  If he ordered me out of my car, this would deter him from making free with my belongings without an official reason or warrant type thing.  I toyed with my ipod, cueing the audio book I had been listening to back a few minutes.  I had left it on play in my haste to put my theoretical coping skills to practice for law enforcement encounters.  I watched the store clerk watching me.

A few minutes later, the cop came back up to my car.   He handed my papers back to me, and warned me again to get that headlight replaced.  I smiled and thanked him for his trouble, and I put my ID away as he got his cruiser back onto the road.

I grabbed my wallet and hopped out of the car.  I had already pulled the gas door release, back at the beginning of this odd encounter.  I stood a moment, trying to recall if this state was prepay every time, or if this was the “don”t pump your own gas” state.  I decided that night time probably meant prepay anyways, and there was no gas jockey creeping out from under cover, so I strode towards the store.

The store clerk eyed me as I came in.  She was in her middle years, and her eyes sparkled with a fine curiosity. I smiled as I payed.

“Guess my headlight was out, and he just had to tell me.”  I confided.

“Oh Welts!” she exclaimed.  “He is always such a prick, stopping people and hassling everybody.  Thinks he is such a bigshot!” she derided the brave civil servant.

I privately thought most small town cops were big shots when it came to out of towners, and not shy about tossing around their authority.  I took comfort in knowing that he would still be stuck here tomorrow, while I was a hundred miles away, seeing brand new sights.  And redwoods.  They really are spectacular around here, as I knew from last year.

I commiserated with the clerk for a bit longer, then went out to pump my gas.  I stood at the handle, pressing the gas nozzle and its fume sucker hood tight to the side of my car.  Only in California were they so aware of fumes.  With that, the memory finally surfaced.  It was Oregon where you weren’t allowed to pump your own gas.  By law, every station was full serve.  Here, it was just prepay all the time.

I filled up my teacup, and got back onto the road.  The nav still showed the best path out of town, and I could see no reason to waste time.  I knew the redwoods were only another one or two hundred miles up the road, and I hoped to get to the edge of them and find a place to sleep in my car.  I wanted to wake up among the giants tomorrow morning.

I cleared the town limits, and gently sped up.  The tires shushed on the road, and the mist scuttled out from under my car.  The darkness wrapped back around me, welcoming me in.  I flashed away from the last town light, and into the night.

All my theoretical knowledge comes from flexyourrights.org/

Quite a useful website, with practical videos.