Like mother, like daughter?

Well, my younger daughter has what you might call a heavy foot. Right foot, specifically.

Let’s just say she learned from an expert. 

Not me. I’ve only had one or two speeding tickets in my entire life. Maybe three.

Oh, I’ve listened to “The Sermon” a couple of times. The last time I had to listen to it, then he gave me a ticket anyway.

I remember when, a few weeks after we moved to Colorado about Thanksgiving 1980, Cynthia said something one evening like, “Well, I think I’ve met all the troopers in the Valley.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, they don’t give me tickets, just warnings.”

Of course, she was a cute little 30-something blond in those days, no blue streak. We were living 12 miles south of town on the state highway. And she was a newcomer. 

I just shook my head. 

Nevertheless, I think she realized that if she had met them all at least once, maybe she was kinda on thin ice. She started to be more careful, at least in Colorado.

I never got a speeding ticket in Colorado, except one, and it wasn’t really in Colorado. It was in Rocky Mountain National Park. 

I had sped up after leaving the west exit to the park, well clear of the entrance station. But not, as the ranger who stopped me explained, clear of the 25 mph zone around said entrance. On the bright side, he offered, since the federal government does not subscribe to the interstate compact on reporting traffic violations, my state and my insurance company would never hear of my indiscretion. 

I paid the $35 fine to the clerk of the U.S. District Court as soon as I could.

Both my son and my elder daughter have good driving records, at least so far as I know. The middle child, however, that’s another story. At least when she was in her 20s.

One fall when she was home for Thanksgiving break, she happened to mention some intelligence she had gathered.

“The Hoxie sheriff,” she announced, “really likes your paper.”

“That’s nice,” I said. “And how did you happen to meet the Hoxie sheriff?”

“Well, I’m not sure he’s the actual sheriff. Maybe just a deputy. He sort of pulled me over.”

“Pulled you over for?”

“I was going a little fast,” she admitted.

One time I was in the passenger seat; she was driving home from a pre-enrollment visit to KU. Somewhere along the way, we had rescued a painted turtle from the highway. She was another cute little blond, driving her mother’s cute little red Probe.

The trooper came up, but he stopped at the back window. The turtle, it seemed, had done what turtles do: climbed to high ground. Usually, it’s a log beside a pond or river. In this case, the top of the back seat. 

We talked about that turtle for five or 10 minutes, and I don’t think she ever even got The Sermon. Just a quick admonishment to slow down. 

I did get a speeding ticket once in Kansas. It was on the edge of Clay Center and I was leaving town at legal speed until I saw the 45 mph sign just beyond a small bridge. 

Apparently, a city cop was hidden behind that bridge. I’m sure I was going at least 45 when he stopped me and explained that you have to wait until you pass the sign before you speed up. 

Let that be a lesson to me. Small bridges can hide a multitude of sins.

Now, I said earlier that Cynthia has turned over a new leaf in Colorado, but New Mexico was a whole ’nother state, as it were.

In those days, it was widely believed the New Mexico State Police owned only two radar sets. For the whole state.

So we were headed for Santa Fe one sunny day for some city time and a refill on our green chili quota, just us and the kids. 

As she hit the state line, I recall, she said, “New Mexico; I can speed!”

But as we rounded San Antonio Mountain,and started down into a long valley, red and blue lights flashed up ahead. It was a state trooper, and sure enough, he had the radar that day.

Since the kids were present, that one became one of those shared family memories; you know, the ones you’re never allowed to forget. All anyone has to say is, “New Mexico,” and Cynthia will start to blush a little. 

She’s pretty careful down there, too, since that day.

A long-time publisher in Kansas and Colorado, Steve Haynes is a member of the Kansas Newspaper Hall of Fame.