Practice Pad
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My weight’s been all over the chart this week. I’ve not been as diligent as necessary, dietarily. I think it may be time to start the exercise.

/w

Week three weight: 204.6lbs
Weight lost this week: 7lbs
Total loss so far: 8.4lbs
Average per week: 2.8lbs

Yesterday I went fishing on the Upper Provo river, and didn’t get enough water. I think I’m fairly dehydrated, and that will be causing my weight to read lower than it should. Still, I’m glad to be back on track and moving in the right direction again.

/w

“Speed limit is 65 through there, and I clocked you at 84.”

The Highway Patrol officer had me dead to rights. I was on my way back from fishing on the upper Provo River with a couple of old buddies. We were talking about fish, life, old jobs, etc, and I wasn’t paying the best attention I could have. He was hunkered down around a corner in the median and caught me just FLYING. I figured the best policy was the honest approach.

“84?” I asked. “I was thinking it was more like 80, not that that makes much of a difference.”

“I’m going to need to see your license, registration and insurance, please.”

“Yes sir… here’s the license, and the other materials are in the glove box.” My buddy pulled out a big stack of stuff from the box. I grabbed the registration and insurance.

Then the officer went back to his car to “call it in”. I felt ok. I knew I was getting a ticket. I hadn’t even seen the guy until it was way to late to even fake it, while the cars around me must have, because the all faded away behind me right before I noticed him.

The two guys I was with have interesting histories with traffic stops. The classic car enthusiast has a tendency to get mouthy that has resulted in handcuffs and an electric blue early-’60s Camero being dragged down the street on a tow truck. The other fellow is the former head of security and safety at the local college, and has often been able to show his campus badge to the officer and be sent on his way. That said, the fellow is of Iranian birth and has had his fair share of abuse at the hands of local law enforcement merely for being the wrong color. Once, during a particularly intimate pat-down by a small-town cop, my friend was asked, “So, do you carry any guns, knives, chemical weapons? How about a bazooka?” to which my friend replied, “Yeah, I carry a bazooka. In fact, your hand is on it right now.”

I turned to these two ne’er do wells, and said, “no sense in lying to the guy at this point.” They tended to agree. “Keep it business like.”

I took solace in the fact that this would be my first ever speeding ticket, and that I had carried myself with dignity and integrity through the experience (not like the time I was pulled over for expired tags, and my license was ALSO expired, and the nice lady impounded my van. That time I broke right down and cried).

A few minutes later the officer was back at the window.

“I’m gonna let you guys split. Slow down!”

I was NOT getting a ticket after all!

“Thank you officer!” I called into the waning dusk as he walked away. “Have a nice night!”

That’s what I get for playing it straight. The fact that my traffic record is so clean was probably a big factor, but I think the bigger factors were 1) this particular cop was not a power-drunk high school drop out. 2) I gave him some respect, told him the truth, and was prepared to accept the consequences. He meets a lot of whiners and lairs every day, and I made sure that I was neither.

I then kept the cruise control pegged at 64 for the entire ride down the canyon.

/w

The trip to the North Fork Club killed me, apparently. I had thought that I had practiced sufficient restraint with the wonderful food in the dining room, but apparently not. This week, I’m back in the saddle. Gonna get it done.

/w