Slipstream - May 2001

Six Points To A Traffic Stop
by Michael Wingfield
The red and blue lights atop the car behind me illuminate,
creating a strobe effect in my rear view mirror. The crisp wail of a
siren blast rings in my ears. There is no doubt about it, the Dallas
Police Officer behind me wants MY attention. What could he
possibly want with me? We are both sitting in a left turn lane at a
traffic light, and have been for two complete cycles of the light.
Traffic is heavy and only a few cars make it through the intersection
at each cycle of the green light. But there he is, waving his arms and
pointing at me. Does he want me to move? How can I? I am stuck
with traffic in front of me, to my right, and a light pole in the
median to my left. There is no where for me to go. Then it
becomes clear that he wants me and my 944 to be the subject of this
traffic stop as I see him talking on his radio and preparing to open
the door on his patrol car.
As I watch in my rear view mirror, he opens his car door and
very slowly approaches my vehicle. He turns sideways, presenting
only his profile rather than his width as he steps ever so slowly
towards my car. His face is backlit by the setting sun; I can not see
his face. His head bobs up and down, left and right, appearing
more like a boxer in the ring than a police officer, as he peers
through the back glass of my car. He is looking in my car, but not
with a casual glance. He is looking very intently and seriously as he
studies the empty rear cargo area of my car. I see his right hand
move to his weapon; he unbuckles the safety strap. He continues
to inch slowly toward the driver side of my car.
Does he think my car is stolen? Has he mistaken my car for
one recently used in a crime? Hundreds of thoughts race through
my mind as I sit completely still in the driver seat; my hands firmly
gripping the steering wheel at 10-&-2, hopefully in plain sight of
the approaching police officer. The insurance card is current and
in the glove box, the registration is new as I put the new sticker on
the windshield last night, the state inspection is current. What
could be wrong? I do not want to give this officer any cause to
become more suspicious or alarmed as he stalks up alongside my
car. How could I have gotten myself into this situation?
It all started the night before. I had just completed the installation
of my new Momo seat, harness bar and Deist 6-point
harness in my Sapphire 944. I had grown tired of trying to use the
steering wheel as leverage during track events to keep my rear end
in the stock leather seat, which had become hard, slick, aged, and
torn. Since I had to replace the seat, I decided that I might as well
get something more appropriate for driving events. I completed
the work in time to have the equipment in the car for the
Wednesday night technical inspection before the next Maverick
track event. I looked forward to driving the car from north Dallas
to the mid-cities with the new seating arrangement.
After work, I buckle myself snuggly into my new Momo seat
and head towards Mayo’s for the driving event technical inspection.
On my route, I knew I had some school zones, and being the
safe law-abiding citizen that I am, I slowed appropriately for each
zone. At the beginning of the first school zone, I notice a Dallas
Police car parked in the median, facing my direction. No need to
worry; I am traveling below the posted speed limit and slowed
sufficiently for the school zone. However, I notice the police car
pull away from the median and follow me through the zone. While
most folks might start to get a little paranoid at this point, I relax
and continue my journey. At the end of the school zone, I notice
the police car still pacing me to the next traffic light. At the next
traffic light, I signal my right turn intentions, turn right at the
green traffic light and proceed down the next street. The police car
continues to follow. It must be a coincidence I think to myself.
Again, the police car paces me through a second school zone.
At the next major intersection, my journey requires that I
make a left turn. I signal left and pull into the left turn lane,
queuing up behind a long line of other cars also wanting to make
a left turn at the intersection. As I watch my mirrors, I notice that
the police car has not made any moves to turn left at this intersection.
Good – the police car passes me and proceeds through the
intersection. As the first police car goes past, I notice a second
police car parked in a strip mall across the street. As soon as the
first police car passes me, the second police car drives rapidly from
the parking lot, crosses three lanes of traffic, and queues up behind
me at the traffic light. This brings me back to where I started: two
cars in a row, waiting patiently for the traffic to clear and for the
traffic light to turn green; then the lights and siren from the police
car and the Dallas Police officer slowly approaching the driver
window of my car.
As the Police officer nears the left rear quarter panel of my car,
he stops. Again his head bobs as he looks through the rear window
and now the left quarter panel window. He stands with his back
toward the car fender; head turned ninety degrees, looking over his
right shoulder. In my driver side mirror, I clearly see his right hand
on his weapon. He studies the empty contents of the car back seat
area and then looks toward the driver side window and me. He
slowly and cautiously takes another step. Suddenly he stops. He
stretches out his left hand he makes a slight waving motion and
says,“Never mind.” He then takes a step back toward his patrol car.
“Wait a minute! Stop! Where are you going?” I shout to the
police officer as I still sit almost statuesque, as my hands continue
to firmly grip the steering wheel. “Did I really say that out loud,” I
think to myself in startled disbelief. In my mirror I see the officer
stop and pivot back toward my car.
“What’s wrong? Is there a problem? Is something wrong with
my car?” I ask.
“Nothing,” the officer replies. Again he starts to make his way
back to his car.
“Wait!” I shout again. “Why did you stop me?”
The officer turns slowly toward my car once again. However,
this time while he continues to move slowly, he appears to move
with less concern for caution and more with regret. He approaches
the driver side window, he stops short of coming up next to the
door. I turn my head to look at him; his face is still hidden from
my view as the setting sun lingers his head. I see him reach out
with his left hand, as if he is going to reach into the open driver side
window. His hand stops just behind the door post, his index
finger points to the B-pillar, and he waves it in a rather nonchalant
manner.
“I saw this,” he says as he points to the factory seat belt clasp
hanging from the B-pillar.
He next reaches his hand toward the open window and waves
it in an up and down motion in front of me, from my neck to my
waist. He says in an embarrassed, almost inaudible voice, as he
moves back toward his patrol car, “But I didn’t see all of these,”
indicating my 6-point harness. Thus, while one freely hanging seat
belt buckle can warrant a traffic stop, a snug fitting 6-point harness
will certainly prevent the issuance of a traffic ticket!
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