Hitting a Speed Bump in the Fast Lane

It happened on a recent Sunday. Dave and Betsy and the kids were flying into LAX and needed a ride from the airport.

We were eastbound on the 105--the new freeway I still prefer to call the Century--when it occurred to me that we had ourselves a carpool. This was a chance to legally try out one of the more breathtaking, vertigo-inspiring stretches of Southern California roadways, the elevated interchange that soars above the inner city and swoops down into the northbound Harbor Freeway. And then we could drive the new elevated lanes heading into downtown.

It may be ecologically incorrect, but having grown up in California, I rather like to drive. To quote Brian Wilson: Round, round, get around, I get around. The car I purchased last October already has 23,000 miles on the odometer.

So there we were, swooping from one freeway to another. Even on this hazy morning, the view of the downtown skyline was dramatic. Coming down to the Harbor, I noticed that my speedometer showed 75. I noted this after spying, a full six lanes to my right, the black-and-white of the California Highway Patrol.

This didn’t bother me. By reflex, I might have eased off the accelerator a bit, but I’m sure I was still above the 65-mph speed limit resurrected last December. To quote Alfred E. Neuman: What, me worry? We locals know that the speed limit is just a friendly recommendation.

Besides, there were the makings of a True Story of the Highway Patrol. A few seconds after I spotted the Chip on the shoulder, a gray sedan came out of nowhere and rocketed by on my right. If I was doing 75, he must have been pushing 100. And I found myself thinking: Go get him, officer.

Looking back, the fact that the Chip didn’t zoom past me in the next minute should have been the tip-off. Instead, a couple of minutes later, the black-and-white was in my rearview mirror. I moved over to let him pass. He moved over too. Then he put on a little light show and signaled for me to pull across the freeway to an offramp.

I wasn’t angry. I was an annoyed taxpayer. Why the hell didn’t he go after Speed Racer?

I knew better than to bring it up right away. The officer was young and businesslike. We went through the license-and-registration drill until he was assured that I wasn’t a fugitive from justice.

“Are you aware that the speed limit within the city is 55?”

No, I wasn’t. And then I found myself thinking: Wait a minute. That can’t be right.

He said he clocked me at 75 but would write me up for 70 and said I could go to traffic school.

Whatever. Now that I had the ticket, I had a question.

The answer was yes. He’d seen the other driver race past.

He offered some cursory explanation about why he didn’t go after that guy, but neither of us seemed to be in the mood to discuss it. For some reason, I always thank cops who give me tickets. Thanks, officer. Keep up the good work.

A minute later, we were back on the freeway, going with the flow in the middle lanes. I’d just learned the speed limit was 55--and we were doing 65. On my left, drivers were easing by at 70 and on the elevated lanes ahead, about 75. Outlaws, all of us. Even in the slow lane, only a troublemaker would have been driving 55.

This experience prompted me to do a little research. When I shared this tale of woe with CHP Sgt. Ernie Garcia, he suggested that the officer who cited me probably figured that it would have been unsafe to pursue the other driver. If several motorists are exceeding the speed limit, Garcia said, the officer will stop the one that can be pulled over safely. “The officer’s job is to prevent accidents, not cause them.”

This was pretty much what I expected to hear, but not exactly satisfying. One thing the officer didn’t mention, Garcia noted, was that he might have used his radio to alert other patrol officers of the speed demon.

Nope, he didn’t mention that. And I think he would have if he had.

Incidentally, Garcia and Caltrans both confirmed that my officer was simply wrong about the speed limit being 55 within Los Angeles city limits. That’s true in the downtown area and some other selected stretches of freeway. But in most of the greater metropolitan area, 65 is the rule and 55 the exception.

The scene of my crime, I would discover, was one of those treacherous spots where the limit changes from 65 to 55 on the Harbor. A Caltrans spokeswoman said that traffic signs note this fact. Alas, I didn’t notice them. The speed limit on the Harbor, I was told, will go up to 65 once construction work is completed.

It looked pretty damned complete where I was, but I learned long ago that a speeding ticket is like spilled milk. After I received this one, my friends and I discussed the karma of the freeway: Maybe it all balances out in the end.

This made me think of the last time I was pulled over, driving south on the Golden State through Glendale. My car was new and the ride was so smooth and the officer said he clocked me up to. . . . Well, I had no idea, officer. Honest, I really didn’t.

It was night and apparently I’d sped right past him. But he let me off with a warning. And when I said thank you, I meant it.

Lucky for me, he was LAPD. This really wasn’t his job. The Highway Patrol, he said, would have nailed me for sure.

Scott Harris’ column appears Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Readers may write to Harris at the Times Valley Edition, 20000 Prairie St., Chatsworth, Calif. 91311. Please include a phone number.