Wednesday, 7 December 2011

Cannonball Run Day 32; this day in 1990

Woke up at about 10.30am, showered and began the drive to George’s cousin – John K. Met up with him at about midday and he was hungover from the night before (he said I looked like a gypsy – thanks John). Said our ‘au revoirs’ and set off for Miami. We got there as it was turning dark and the rain was almost as bad as the storm in Louisiana. We phoned from a Holiday Inn to try and get in touch with this guy Dave who was supposed to live there but didn’t succeed. Leaving the Holiday Inn, a white double-stretched limousine pulls up and an all black rap group - the singer looked remarkably like Rob Base – got into it and pulled away.

Sat in our van in the pouring rain, we decided to drive to Key West; the southern most point of North (Continental) America. We arrived there after midnight and we were tailed by the police for about a mile. They finally pulled us over and after checking us out, explained that hours before, a white Chevy van similar to ours had been used in a robbery. After I posed with the police for a photo, they said goodnight.

George tooted at them and waved and they even waved back.


Found a site and crashed.

(note; again, another encounter with the police seems to have escaped any extended use of brain power or ink usage, but I can remember it as clear as if it had happened this morning. It became pretty obvious fairly quickly that the police were following us and we were trying not to look in our mirrors or out the back windows. The police car turned off the main road and we thought we’d got it wrong. Then, out of nowhere, with blue lights flashing and sirens blaring, they were right behind us again. George pulled over to the side of the road and we waited. We had our windows down and they instructed George to get out of the car, slowly, and to keep his hands where they could be seen. This was all said in a “100%, no-nonsense, don’t-mess-with-us” voice. George got out of the van slowly, Kim was almost crying in the back and I was sat dead still. I heard them ask for George’s license and ID, which, as I looked down, could see in amongst the paperwork on the shelf above the glove compartment. Without thinking, I reached down, grapbbed the paperwork and then opened my door, jumping down from the slightly raised cab, all in one movement.

As I landed on my feet, facing towards the back of the van, the other policeman – who had been covering the passenger side of the van, and was stood with his hand poised over his belt at one side – simultaneously (and loudly) told me to stay exactly where I was, to keep my hands still, whilst unclipping his holster and drawing his gun. I froze – as you would – and stared straight at him. He asked me to turn around to face away from him and to put my hands on my door, which was still open. It all happened so quickly, but as scared as I remember being, I could still make out George’s voice, explaining who we were, where we’d come from, where we were going, etc.

By the time the cop had come over to me, his partner seemed satisfied with George’s explanations, so instead of being searched, I got a pat on the back! I’ve attached the photo, not that you can see anything, but because whenever I see it, all the above comes flooding back in an instant).

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