Traveling home on the Blue Ridge Parkway – where it seems there is always a cop available to ticket you for “speeding” – I came upon the scene of a motorcycle accident. I am still not sure exactly what happened – probably because for me the immediate concern was what to do about the injured biker.
There were three riders, one of them (a woman) having lost control or misjudged her line or maybe she swerved to avoid a deer or the bike had a mechanical failure.
I still don’t know.
What was immediately obvious was the one rider was down and badly injured. Her companions couldn’t do anything more for her than call 911 – which they’d done about 10 minutes prior, apparently.
But no one appeared to be coming and time was of the essence, as it always in emergencies.
Like when thugs are home-invading your home.
911’s not much help then, either.
A Sig or Glock is.
Bear in mind that as a matter of law, cops have no duty to protect you. They are employed to enforce the law. This ugly truth is of course not often articulated.
But it is true nonetheless.
The woman’s friend and I decided further waiting was not in her best interests. So we helped her into my car – and we took off to the hospital. I broke several laws along the way. I figured the laws would never know the difference – but the injured girl in my car might be better off.
On the way, I called a number the girl gave me – her family – and let them know who I was, what had happened and that she would be at the hospital in minutes.
I drove the Mustang press car like Rick in Walking Dead would.
Got there in less than 10 minutes.
I hope she’s ok.
I did not get her full name. I left after the emergency room people came out and got her inside.
They responded quickly.
I drove home the way I had come and came once again to the scene of the accident.
A cop was there now.
When seconds count… .
Probably trying to figure out whom to ticket. At the very least, I saved the girl from that. A “reckless driving” cite, probably. Ticketing people who’ve just had a bad wreck is fairly common – even when no one else got hurt. It’s petty and mean, but then, so is the law.
So I did not stop again. I left the cop by the wreck site, no doubt making arrangements to have the totaled bike – still there – impounded. These impound lots are a particularly loathsome branch of the various mafias that seem to run the country. They will sock you with exorbitant daily storage fees, which you must pay if you ever hope to get your hands on your vehicle again. If I’d been driving my truck, I would have loaded the wrecked bike and spirited it away, too.
Anything to deny these badged bullies another opportunity to make a buck off someone else’s bad luck.
If collecting revenue and general harassment were not the primary activities of law enforcement (their favored term) perhaps they’d be more available to help people actually hurt as opposed to stomping their hooves over laws affronted.
But then, there’s no money (or power) in the former… while the latter is (like the hokey pokey) what it’s all about.
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