I fought the law and the...

So there I was, innocently driving home from a wonderful weekend adventure with my buddy that included mountain climbing and kayaking, when all of a sudden I saw that car up ahead. You know what I mean -- a state trooper. As luck would have it, I was in New York State. I'd already received more speeding tickets from New York State troopers than Kiss received undergarments in the mail. So as I cruised by and the lights immediately went on, I knew it was for me.

I slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road. As said, I'd done this before. The trooper, who I might add was courteous, took my license and registration and went to his car to run me through the "super computer."

This is where I tend to get nervous. I'm not a huge fan of Big Brother to begin with and, like Britney Spears, I'm not that innocent. Speeding infractions are not my only run-ins. I'm not Tommy Lee, but I'm not Peggy Lee either.

The very nice trooper returns with two sheets of wax paper (well, that's what they print your tickets on these days). One, the ticket, said I was doing 83 in a 65. I resisted telling him that I was doing 90 about a mile back.

The second sheet stated I had committed aggravated unlicensed operation of a motor vehicle. This, people, is a misdemeanor. Like in cuffs, mugshots, steel bars and love scenes from Deliverance. I checked my license to be sure it said DRIVER'S LICENSE on it (it did) and that I had, in fact, active REGISTRATION and INSURANCE (I did). Despite the obvious logic, the trooper had to then check that my buddy wasn't a criminal like me (he wasn't) and made us switch seats. My friend drove home.

There is a little known law that if you do something so dastardly as move out of the state of New York and register your old or buy a new vehicle without returning your New York plates, you are a criminal. You see, this is what happened to me. Two cars. Two sets of plates. I was one nice state trooper away from singing Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen and making farm animal impressions in a cold, damp upstate New York cell.