It was bound to happen. I have a bit of a lead foot and a heavy right hand.

I already had 11 points on my licence from two previous appearances before m’lud, one of which netted me 6 points for speeding. The first offence for five points was due to some cock-fuckery with insurance after a non-fault accident.

This third appearance was my first bike related stop though which when you bear in mind I’ve been riding bikes now for some 14 years is an achievement for sure.

To this day I don’t know how this copper caught me. Don’t get me wrong, I was banged to rights. It was a gorgeous sunny morning, hardly any traffic on the roads, I was giving it some serious rice which usually means I’m on stealth watch for plod. I can tell you now I did not over-take him neither did he pass me coming the other way. I did not pass a side road or anywhere else he could have been hiding. The only way he caught me was that he must have already been screaming down the A12 for what ever reason and caught up to me randomly. Now bear in mind I was going at respectable pace somewhere on the far side of a ton-up so he must have been enjoying the drive as much as I was. Sadly, this doesn’t get you off a speeding ticket so I didn’t even bother mentioning it to his almighty lordship.

Back to the moment then: There was I doing my best Rossi impression with my chin on tank, tucked behind my screen, thousand yard stare, top gear. I was taught to check mirrors frequently and I did as best as I could but at the speed I was going even a check every minute would be every 2 or so miles (*grins*). I check the mirror, see it is still clear behind me (why wouldn’t it be?) and give it a bit more (she’ll top out around 170mph). Minute later I check again and the whole fucking mirror is filled with the front grill of a grey BMW complete with two pretty blue lights, sitting meters from my rear wheel. I roll off the throttle, sit up (has a huge air brake effect when you’re 6′ tall) and check my speedo to see the needle just coming back past the 100 mark (again, note I sat up first, then checked the speedo). Indicator on I pull over onto the hard shoulder.

Bugger.

Cut to the interior of a police spec unmarked BMW.

Credit where it’s due, the copper was a nice guy. He appreciated the conditions, empty road and after the usual little speech about consequences of an off at these kind of speeds he agrees to deal with it by way of a fixed speeding fine meaning three points. He’s being really good about it and ordinarily I’d be unzipping his fly for such leniency but I know something he doesn’t.

I couldn’t help but smile when he took my licence and called in to run checks on it. There’s a brief pause before a voice on the other end says (and I’m quoting here) “Oooh, unlucky for some, he’s already got eleven points”.

The officer looks at me and simply tears up the fixed penalty notice he was filling out. “Sorry son, you’re going to have to go to court for this one”. I’m still smiling though. After a bit more chat he lets me on my way and off I go again at a more sedate pace.

Points make prizes

It was a short session in court, I pled guilty to the charge of riding a motorcycle in excess of the posted speed limit which thanks to the kind officer was noted at just 98mph (a 100mph would have been an instant ban no matter how many points I already had).

Poor Sandra. For the next six months she was to be my chauffeur. Thankfully we work at the same place. Sandra does not appreciate my philosophy of “points make prizes” as what I see as winning a chauffeur, she saw very much differently.

Better grab a bus time-table while I’m out.