Hit The Road Jean Pierre (Jack)

We drove to Bordeaux the other day to a meeting which started at 10 am. There is a freeway near our town but the entrance is really out of the way and on top of that it is a toll road. When the French decided they were behind the rest of western Europe in the freeway department, they didn’t have the billions of euros it would have taken, so they turned the project over to private enterprise. The only catch is you have to pay a toll based on when you get on and off. If I take the freeway to Bordeaux it gets me there fifteen minutes sooner but 11 euros poorer. So……I take the old national highway. Picture this, a two lane highway just barely wide enough for two cars, lined on each side by gigantic London Plane trees that were planted to keep the driver of the horse drawn cart from getting a sunburn. Speed limits are 55 mph except where posted otherwise. There are 15 small villages on the way to Bordeaux so I have to slow down to 43 mph in each town.
Out on the highway, I set my cruise control at 55 and expect to be passed by every other car headed in my direction. The process is as follows: (I am sure they teach this in French driving classes)
1. Tailgate to within two feet of the car in front of you
2. When there is the slightest opening (not necessarily when there are no oncoming cars) whip to the oncoming lane and pass at the highest possible speed. No need to wait for all oncoming vehicles to clear.
3. Return to the lane at the quickest possible moment, preferably within five feet of the car you are passing.
4. Continue to do the same until you reach your destination. Use of turn signal is optional.
Driving on French highways is a lot like the most memorable ride I ever took with my Dad. We had been to Yellowstone Park because he took a couple of days vacation for the 4th of July. For some reason he felt that we all had to attend a barbeque at my uncle John’s early in the afternoon . We left West Yellowstone at 11 am. Picture the traffic on the 4th of July. Picture a very busy two lane highway from West Yellowstone to Salt Lake City. Picture my dad setting a land speed record for a Chevrolet as we traveled 351 miles in 3.6 hours. (This is typically a six hour drive). No talking was allowed. We were going so fast, I finally got down on the floor in back of the passenger seat and said every prayer I ever remember hearing. No sense in looking out the window, we were going so fast everything was a blur. We passed 256 cars, 95 trucks, a herd of sheep and an airplane headed out of Idaho Falls to Las Vegas. Usually, a trip like that would call for a pit stop for a Coke and a bathroom break. No such luck. If you had to go, you quickly forgot because every sphincter had gone into emergency mode within the first 10 miles. I kept seeing the headline in the local paper when I closed my eyes. It read: Family of 5 Killed Instantly When Their Car Passed 11 Cars And Slammed Into An Oncoming Cattle Truck. No Cattle Were Hurt.
Thanks for listening, I feel much better.

The Ticket

I got a ticket today. Actually the term is contravention and it means that I did something wrong. What you ask? I know that would come up so here is the answer. We drove to Pau the other day to help some young sister missionaries find a new apartment. We were supposed to meet them at the rental agency which just happened to be in the middle of town. Parking is very limited and as a result people park everywhere. They park just about anywhere they please but no matter where you park you still have to pay for it. Somewhere on the street is a machine where you enter large quanties of odd looking coins, push a button and receive a small piece of paper with a time stamped on it which you put on the dash board of your car. As you all know, I am a diligent follower of the rules, so when I found a parking place I dutifully paid for the parking and put the paper on the dash. Apparently while we were at the rental agency the local cops took a good look at my car and wrote me a ticket. The ticket is a two part device with the cost on the front and a written explanation on page two. The ticket said I owed the city of Pau 35 Euros and if I didn’t pay within 30 days the cost would go up to 75 Euros. It seemed a bit steep for a parking tickets but I could not read what the cop had written inside. The French apparently did not have Mrs. Gessellman for 3rd grade writing class because all the words were written in a style that must drive genealogists crazy. I got a friend to translate for me and he told me I got a ticket for not displaying a current insurance card on the windshield. I checked after our discussion and discovered that it had expired in 2010. It’s the equivalent of not having a valid or current insurance card in your possession or in the car in the states. Here in France you are supposed to put them in a little carrier stuck to the inside of the windshield. I think I will have a little chat with the guy in the office who is responsible for all the cars and send him the ticket. The French have a habit of conducting rolling roadblocks at all hours of the day and night to check for proper driver’s licenses, insurance, an identification card, or a note from your mother saying it alright to drive. So our vehicle might be grounded until we can get a proper card.
The last time I got stopped by a policeman and thought I was getting a ticket, I was riding my bike east on Lacey Blvd at about 25 mph in the bike lane (yes it’s slightly downhill there) and got red lighted by the local constable. Turned out he just wanted to look at my bike. I let him look and then pedaled quickly home for a change of clothing. My only other ticket in the last 15 years was in front of the State Farm Regional Office in Dupont WA. I was clocked going ten over the limit but only cited for no insurance because I could not find my current insurance card. The fine was $150. I went to court. Court in Dupont was presided over by a retired hanging judge from someplace in rural Arkansas. I had to sit through all the criminal cases and watched as this judge declared the guilt of each defendant. Burnt toast came to mind. When it was my turn, I respectfully explained my situation and produced my valid insurance card. To my amazement, the judge declared, “Charges dismissed! Assessing court costs of $150." Some days you just can’t win.
Thanks for listening, I feel much better