Played cat and mouse with a cop and won, feel like a bad A**
bobbyd3
Posts: 89
So on my way home at like 10:30 pm on my harley, I happened to be doing 40 in a 35, and just my luck a sherriff is in oncoming lane.
So I watch in mirror see him pull down side street turn around, and I am pretty sure his flashing lights were on.My hearts start pumping as I think FU**. At this point road curves so we are out of sight of each other.
I cut down a side street and start manuevering through all these little side streets , adrenaline pumping making my way for the back roads , made it to the back roads made a wide out of my way path back to my house just waiting for some flashing lights.
Got 50 ft from home and a city cop, different county than sherriff as well passes me and all I could think of is if they radio to each other looking for me. He kept going I parked my bike and felt like I just got away with murder.
Wonder if this cop is gonna be looking for me now, gonna have to paint the back pink now.
One thing I got going for me is that it was night, im on a black bike, in black leather so if he does get me Ill just be like "what, you must have me mistaken, alot of bikes look like mine this.
I mean what can he do, he cant prove it was me.
I would just avoid the area for a while but I was on way home from my mothers house so Im their 1 or 2 times a week.
So I watch in mirror see him pull down side street turn around, and I am pretty sure his flashing lights were on.My hearts start pumping as I think FU**. At this point road curves so we are out of sight of each other.
I cut down a side street and start manuevering through all these little side streets , adrenaline pumping making my way for the back roads , made it to the back roads made a wide out of my way path back to my house just waiting for some flashing lights.
Got 50 ft from home and a city cop, different county than sherriff as well passes me and all I could think of is if they radio to each other looking for me. He kept going I parked my bike and felt like I just got away with murder.
Wonder if this cop is gonna be looking for me now, gonna have to paint the back pink now.
One thing I got going for me is that it was night, im on a black bike, in black leather so if he does get me Ill just be like "what, you must have me mistaken, alot of bikes look like mine this.
I mean what can he do, he cant prove it was me.
I would just avoid the area for a while but I was on way home from my mothers house so Im their 1 or 2 times a week.
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From 'Hells Angels' by Hunter S. Thompson...
'Months later, when I rarely saw the Angels, I still had the legacy of the big machine -- four hundred pounds of chrome and deep red noise to take out on the Coast Highway and cut loose at three in the morning, when all the cops were lurking over on 101. My first crash had wrecked the bike completely and it took several months to have it rebuilt. After that I decided to ride it differently: I would stop pushing my luck on curves, always wear a helmet and try to keep within range of the nearest speed limit. . . my insurance had already been canceled and my driver's license was hanging by a thread. So it was always at night, like a werewolf, that I would take the thing out for an honest run down the coast. I would start in Golden Gate Park, thinking only to run a few long curves to clear my head. . . but in a matter of minutes I'd be out at the beach with the sound of the engine in my ears, the surf booming up on the sea wall and a fine empty road stretching all the way down to Santa Cruz. . . not even a gas station in the whole seventy miles; the only public light along the way is an all-night diner down around Rockaway Beach. There was no helmet on those nights, no speed limit, and no cooling it down on the curves. The momentary freedom of the park was like the one unlucky drink that shoves a wavering alcoholic off the wagon. I would come out of the park near the soccer field and pause for a moment at the stop sign, wondering if I knew anyone parked out there on the midnight humping strip. Then into first gear, forgetting the cars and letting the beast wind out. . . thirtyfive, forty-five. . . then into second and wailing through the light at Lincoln Way, not worried about green or red signals, but only some other werewolf loony who might be pulling out, too slowly, to start his own run. Not many of these. . . and with three lanes on a wide curve, a bike coming hard has plenty of room to get around almost anything. . . then into third, the boomer gear, pushing seventy-five and the beginning of a windscream in the ears, a pressure on the eyeballs like diving into water off a high board. Bent forward, far back on the seat, and a rigid grip on the handlebars as the bike starts jumping and wavering in the wind. Taillights far up ahead coming closer, faster, and suddenly -- zaaapppp -- going past and leaning down for a curve near the zoo, where the road swings out to sea. The dunes are flatter here, and on windy days sand blows across the highway, piling up in thick drifts as deadly as any oil-slick. . . instant loss of control, a crashing, cartwheeling slide and maybe one of those two-inch notices in the paper the next day: "An unidentified motorcyclist was killed last night when he failed to negotiate a turn on Highway I." Indeed. . . but no sand this time, so the lever goes up into fourth, and now there's no sound except wind. Screw it all the way over, reach through the handlebars to raise the headlight beam, the needle leans down on a hundred, and wind-burned eyeballs strain to see down the centerline, trying to provide a margin for the reflexes. But with the throttle screwed on there is only the barest margin, and no room at all for mistakes. It has to be done right. . . and that's when the strange music starts, when you stretch your luck so far that fear becomes exhilaration and vibrates along your arms. You can barely see at a hundred; the tears blow back so fast that they vaporize before they get to your ears. The only sounds are wind and a dull roar floating back from the mufflers. You watch the white line and try to lean with it. . . howling through a turn to the right, then to the left and down the long hill to Pacifica. . . letting off now, watching for cops, but only until the next dark stretch and another few seconds on the edge. . . The Edge. . . There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over. The others -- the living -- are those who pushed their control as far as they felt they could handle it, and then pulled back, or slowed down, or did whatever they had to when it came time to choose between Now and Later. But the edge is still Out there. Or maybe it's In. The association of motorcycles with LSD is no accident of publicity. They are both a means to an end, to the place of definitions.'
On three separate occasions, I outran and/or evaded on foot "swarms" of cops, some of them on ATV's.
I use the word "swarms" because I don't know exactly how many there were, only there were a lot of them.
It all started when I was a little kid in the third grade when my Dad started teaching me ninjitsu. Not only is he a double black belt, but he also spent 30 years in the special forces, so he knew a thing or two about escape and evasion.
Anyhow, when I was in the third grade, we lived in a house with a huge, huge back, side, and front yard pocked with trees, bushes, and various knooks and crannies created by the structural design of the house.
He taught me martial arts 3 days/week, and after martial arts, he trained me on ninjitsu shadow blending and basic escape and evasion.
Using the natural surroundings in the yard and the external features of the house, we spent hours going over different techniques for defying "what the eyes can see under certain conditions." He used the flood lights in the back yard to simulate search lights.
Years later when I became a rambunctious teen, I was faced with occasions where I had to quickly escape from situations where the law was chasing me on foot and had literally called in scores of squad cars to back them up.
On one occasion, they came after me with ATVs.
Long story short...shadow blending, double-backing, and plain old clear-headedness under pressure helped me avoid being put into the back of a squad car on all three occasions.
Not bad for a guy who didn't even have a driver's license, eh? But, if you're unimpressed, then that's OK too.
http://forums.pearljam.com/showthread.php?t=272825
and other the week i was doing 55 in a 45 and 2 cop cars were lined up at a stop sign. after the car behind me passed them they turned on their stuff and came flying down the road. so when they got behind me i pulled over and they just kept going, right thru the red light.
the cop probably got a call and had nothing to do with your 5 mph. did he even follow you after one turn?
I like this story. I was chased all the time as a kid. Me and my friends would always go out to smash windows and steal stuff e.t.c, and would often get chased. I was a fast runner and rarely got caught. Most of my dreams now are about being chased though.
I bet you have overdue library books, too...
also.......with your irrational behavior, did you even for a moment give a thought to the innocent person you could be putting in danger?
anyway, I had a chance to dodge a cop once. I was hardly over the limit, but I saw the trooper turn around and light up. He mustve been a good 1000m from me, I couldve hands down left him for dust. But I didnt think I was gonna get a ticket for being a so little over. Well I did
and if the chance comes up again and if the road is clear and whatever else, sure i'd do a duck and hide. well, maybe it depends on the car i'm driving at the time and how clear the roads are.
Were you doing coke while riding your bike?
There is a song from Black Sabbath about this called "Paranoid".
Sweep the Leg Johnny.
funny shit really..that is until someone gets hurt/killed.
with that said, here goes.
i've done this many, many times myself.
fun shit actually.
city cops, sheriff department, and state highway patrol
have all been in pursuit of me and my moto-cross bike or street bike
at some point.
sometimes i gave up and never got in to much trouble.
fines: no motorcycle license, no headlight, no tail light type shit.
i remember every chase as if it happened yesterday.
one more bit of info and maybe advice to some of you jokers.
you don't need brakes when you have gears and a throttle.
that my friends is fact.
good times when you're unruly, rowdy and
young just like (myself) i used to be.
keep up the good work.
"Hear me, my chiefs!
I am tired; my heart is
sick and sad. From where
the sun stands I will fight
no more forever."
Chief Joseph - Nez Perce
edit shit..
"Hear me, my chiefs!
I am tired; my heart is
sick and sad. From where
the sun stands I will fight
no more forever."
Chief Joseph - Nez Perce
C'mon, he wasn't running. The cop wasn't trying to pull him over.
I've done this before too. On a highway I was going well over the limit. Blew by a cop who was on the other side of the highway. I see in my mirror, him doing a U-turn, I get off the highway at the next exit and turn into a gas station. I see him going FLYING by the exit (lights weren't on) but he was hauling ass.
I've done that before on sidestreets too.
If a cop is behind me with lights on I will pull over, but I see nothing wrong with diverting my way to my destination...and there is nothing illegal about that.
See These Bones