August 23, 2023 - When is a bicycle path not a bicycle path? That is the question that my wife had to decide a number of years ago in Colorado. I had taken a new job in 1974 with an insurance company whose home office was Littleton, Colorado. We moved there in January of that year, native Texans in a foreign country, whom the natives teased about our “accent.” I never felt that we had any detectible accent, but the Colorado citizens felt differently.
My son, a pre-teen, was enrolled in a little league football program that fall. Games were usually played on Saturday mornings. On a particular Saturday morning, my son had a ball game. My wife was working at a pediatrician’s office and did not get off until around noon. She decided to run down to the football field and watch our little football star play.
I was standing on the sidelines when my wife walked up to me and the conversation went something like the following:
“Honey, do you have a quarter?”
“Sure do. But, why do you need a quarter,” I inquired.
“Well, I need to call someone.”
“Who do you need to call?” I quizzed her.
“I need to call AAA.”
“Why do you need to call AAA?”, I asked, getting a little alarmed at this point.
“Well, I need to have them pull our car out of the ditch.”
“The car is in the ditch? What are you talking about?”
“It’s a long story, so I will explain as we are walking back down the street,” she replied sweetly, as I began to follow her.
“I don’t understand. Have you had an accident?”
“Not exactly,” she replied as she kept walking.
Then I saw it. Our new 1974 Ford Galaxy 500 was sitting on the entrance to the area with the right front wheel in the ditch, and the left rear up in the air. To make matters worse, a police car was parked behind it with its overhead lights on. An Englewood police officer stood behind our car writing on his clipboard.
“Honey, what happened? How did the car get in this position?” I asked, hoping for a logical answer. “Well, I thought this was the entrance to the football field and turned on to it, but it was not wide enough for the car.” “Honey, this is a bicycle path, not a road. No wonder, it is too narrow for a car.” There were no bicycle paths in Houston, Texas where we had lived for the past 12 years.
The Englewood officer was not very sympathetic, or patient with my wife. I introduced myself to him, showed him my badge from the Littleton police department for whom I was commissioned, but it fazed him not. “What are you going to charge her with?” I wondered aloud. “I’ll find something,” he replied as he thumbed through his code book. “By the way, you need to get that car out of the road soon or it will be towed,” he informed me as he looked over the top of his glasses.
Well, no professional courtesy by this officer. He must be having a bad day. “Officer,” I replied, “as I have told you we have called AAA and they should be here soon.” I am sure he heard me as he was writing out a citation. As he handed it to my wife, she retorted, “Well, I guess you have never made a wrong decision.” He peered at her and replied, “Yes, I have. I made one when I went into law enforcement.”
The tow truck appeared about that time. The officer had written my wife a ticket for “Illegal Parking,” with a fine of $5. My car was pulled out of the ditch, the officer drove off, and life was good once again….except for the Englewood police officer who had mistakenly gone into law enforcement.
