Sugarbushes, Rain and Police

I was up in VT this weekend for the annual touring of sugar bushes. Mmmm, my favorite, real maple syrup. The timing worked out well too, as Dawn and her boyfriend Bill were up for the day for their first ever sugar bush experience. We used to work together and she had just finished her last day of work last week – an end of an era. It was a beautiful sunny day and dad and Dawn and Bill and I piled into the Volvo and trekked around southern VT to visit three very different and distinct sugar bushes. There was the Corse Family Farm who have been making maple syrup since 1868 and provides a wonderful concoction of maple syrup milk shakes as part of the tour. I had been there before and picked up a half gallon of the Fancy. Strange as I’m usually a medium or dark kind of girl. But I still have a half gallon of dark and it’s good to have a variety of grades on hand depending on what you need it for. Then there was Dwight Miller and Son who are eight generations of sugar bushing and where there was a reporter taking our pictures. But it looks like we didn’t make the cut for the article, which can be read here. We wrapped the day up with a visit (and another purchase) at the Stone Family sugar bush. And of course, since we were close to the General Store in Newfane we had to stop for a round of homemade fudge. Needless to say, all the fresh air and maple syrup had me in bed by 9 pm!
I had been running a bit late for rendezvousing with everyone Saturday so sped up to VT. I was thinking several things on my ride up:

“Man, I really love driving Route 2 on a crisp, beautiful, sunny day – such a gorgeous ride, especially since I’ve gotten to know every twist and turn – where and when to pass folks.” And the river was wicked high – I thought it would spill over onto the road very soon.



“Man, I hate Priuses sometimes. Why would someone drive 40 mph in a 55 mph zone – crazy drivers.”



“Man, this is a sweet car, I can pass anyone anytime. Eat my dust Prius!” (not the case in my old Saturn on hills).



“Man, this car is as smooth as butter. I need to check my speed more often. I don’t notice how it creeps up at times.”



“Dude, it’s a good thing I know where the police hang out for speed traps.”



And that, my friend, is where I got a little too cocky. It’s a drive I’ve done often enough to be too comfortable. And I was put in check Sunday on my way home. Which is ironic as I have a sneaking suspicion that my average speed is lower on my way home. I had just started my journey and had just gotten onto Route 2 when I noticed the police car. The police car pointing my direction. The police car that just clocked me at 70 mph. The police car that just put its lights on and is coming after me. Should I make a run for it? I know the twist and turns of the road, I have a powerful smooth car. I could shake the cop. Ok, that’s not really what I was thinking. Instead, I was thinking:



“Man, it was a good thing I spent my afternoon at the RMV getting my license renewed and my registration straightened out this week.”



“Man, I’m glad I took a moment this afternoon to clean my license plate and put the new registration sticker on. And that I got my taxes done.” Because who knows what they’re checking back in the cop car after they take your license and registration info.



For some reason, this time I knew I was going to get a ticket. Usually I’m really nice and they just give me a warning (not that I’m saying I’ve been pulled over tons or anything). This time, I was nice but my heart wasn’t in it and I was resigned to get the ticket. I think I realized that driving an older worn car might have helped and now driving a fancier more expensive car didn’t help my cause. Plus it was the end of the day and I had just eaten dinner and was tired. So I hand over my expired license and my temporary license and my expired registration card and my expired extension for registration (it only lasted for 30 days which was like 60 days ago. I had forgotten to grab the new registration paperwork to put in the car the day before – it was sitting right next to the car keys, but I grabbed the keys and ignored the paperwork – opps). And I waited. The police officer came back and told me that the ticket would be $150 and would go on my insurance for 6 years and with a car like mine it would be an extra $300 a year and then gave me a written warning. No ticket! How sweet was that? I was reading it over and I like to think that it was because his first name is the same as the name of the street I live on. We had a special connection of sorts. And on my way back, I was thinking:



“Man, this is a really slow drive.”



But I’m several hundred dollars richer (or not poorer) and I’ve finally turned on the cruise control or as I like to call it, the “speed checker”. So that’s me. That’s me writing this right now in wet jeans from being in the rain 6 hours ago. It’s been raining non-stop since yesterday and the flooding delays are coming back for my commute. I hope I get home at a decent time tonight. I have a committee meeting at one of the schools we’re working on. Gotta represent!



Ok, didn’t get a chance to post this last night and it turned out the meeting at the school isn’t until next week and last night was for the police department which worked out quite well as I was able to ask the Captain about how the written warning works. I was wondering how long it was in the system. Turns out budget cuts have reduced the administration staff so these things don’t get recorded in the system anymore. His word of advice – don’t keep it in the glove compartment, but otherwise I’ve got a clean slate. Sweet!