A turn for the better

Traffic tickets tend to travel in pairs for me. My first double infraction took place during my freshman year in college when I was cited for running a red light and then for speeding, both within about a two-week period. I managed to talk my way out of fines in both those instances -- but that's another story.

Illegal left turns were my downfall in Denver a year later. While California's "No Left Turn" signs are typically located in the median or are suspended from traffic lights, in the Colorado Capital -- at least at that time -- "No Left" signs were published along the right-hand curb -- and on the near side of the cross street so they were pretty much invisible to out-of-state drivers who decided to hang a left at the last minute.

It wasn't until I collected my second citation that I drove back around and realized the problem. I had been conditioned in the Golden State to look left and was oblivious to Mile-High rules presented from the right margin. Fortunately a clerk in the municipal courthouse took pity and stapled the two documents together, charging me only for the topmost infraction.

I doubled up again in about 1971 when the speed limit was lowered to 55. My 1970 Ford Maverick was underpowered and driving below 65 in high gear just didn't feel right -- that cars cruising speed was 70 and I couldn't help regressing into that comfort zone on long trips. I was cited twice on a round-trip circuit between Colorado and California; I slipped up twice in about 1800 miles and was ticketed in western Colorado and northern New Mexico within a six or seven day period.

Well, it was Denver Déjà Vu this morning when I arrived at an intersection here in south Calgary. I had just passed through a spaghetti noodle shaped maze of on- off- over- and under-ramps and, despite the strident pleading of my nearly flawless GPS navigator, I had missed my turn.

The ever-forgiving device quickly touched base with a nearby satellite and barked a new command: "In 400 yards, make a U-turn."

I dutifully pulled to the left and into the turn lane. I have learned to trust this new technology. My chronic lack of a sense of direction is no longer a curse, I merely follow directions and my little friend gets me where I want to go.

Looking across the intersection, I spied a white patrol car. Uh oh, I thought. Is it legal to make a U-turn at this intersection?

I scoped out the territory. There were no signs prohibiting the maneuver. I even checked behind me along the median and to my right along the curb. No, no signs at all, naught but the traffic light with a green arrow ready to flash the "go" signal at any instant.

Son Jesse will confirm that I've long had an attitude about U-turns. I tend to view them as failure experiences; and in this case I clearly was where I was because I had failed to attend closely to instructions offered by my digital buddy.

Well, the light changed, the arrow flashed green and all systems seemed to indicate that I was good for launch. I glanced at the patrol car and pulled a smooth 180.

Studying the rear-view mirror with far more interest than usual, I wasn't surprised to see the hood of the patrol car rise as it lurched forward a bit more quickly than seemed necessary. Then the red lights atop its roof began to cycle through their complex patterns of illumination and even the headlights flashed to make it impossible to ignore the fact that I was...

Busted.

I pulled over and waited while the officer probably called in my license for "wants and warrants." After my cold treatment at the border, I was more than a little concerned that I might be in for some more Ugly American treatment. I imagined being run in to the police station and subjected to the third degree.

Keeping my hands firmly in the 10 and two positions so the officer would be assured that I wasn't armed or posing a threat, I waited. When he arrived at the window, I slowly lowered one hand to crank down the window.

"I observed you making the U-turn," the officer began.

I was relieved. In my experience, those with power too often tend to withhold information and keep the objects of their attention in the dark. By letting me know the issue at hand was my driving and not a bank robbery or other more serious matter, the officer almost put me at ease.

Made more comfortable, I risked a smile and admitted that I had almost second-guessed my decision to pull that U-turn. I explained that my PDA had commanded me to complete the maneuver and that I didn't see any signs to the contrary and decided to follow orders.

Fortunately, my captor seemed amused and to understand my quandary. He explained that in Canada, the absence of a sign offering permission means, "don't." This policy is opposite that in most or all of the States, where one may turn unless prohibited to do so.

Lesson learned.

The only question remaining was whether I was to be punished for my ignorance.

My hope that I would be forgiven without punishment was not only financial. I am certain that I can afford to pay the fine. No, this Canadian official was in position to reinforce or counter the negative vibes I picked up a week or so ago on the border. If he took the hard line, I might forever after tend to view Canadian law enforcement officers as callous, aloof, uncaring brutes.

But this fellow came through for Canada -- and for me. He smiled and handed back my paperwork. We were OK with each other. I had learned a lesson about traffic law and he had done his job by providing that lesson.

Now THAT'S law enforcement and public service and being a good "neighbour," as they say up here in Canada.