As I crested the Siskiyou Summit and began my descent into California from Oregon, I noticed a sign that said "Speed Enforced by Radar". Hmmm, let's test the system; shall we? I accelerated up to about 95 MPH and waited to see what would happen. Unbeknownst to me, 3 miles above the Earth a CHP (California Highway Patrol) KH-12 Keyhole Satellite (leased from the National Security Administration) had picked me up as a 'blip'. The satellite repositioned itself with gentle nudges from it's navigation thrusters and quickly had me tracked.
The onboard capacitors began their charging sequence, and then began to merge the radar with the powerful wattage that would be it's swift carrier of justice. How it works is this: the radar beam would be concentrated into a non-lethal blast of energy that would fry every electronic component on the target vehicle, thus bringing the speed infraction to an abrupt halt.
Well, as I traveled I caught a glimpse high in the atmosphere - and it hit me! Not the condensed radar beam, but the knowledge that I was seconds away from being blasted. I quickly reached behind the seat and grabbed the reflective windshield screen that put up on hot summer days when I have the truck parked. The beam hit the screen and was reflected back up to the satellite, frying it's internal circuitry. Unguided and adrift, it lost orbit and feel through the atmosphere creating an immense fireball and the wreckage rained down upon Mt. Shasta.
Unfortunately, some of the locals thought it portended the emergence of the ancient race of Lemurians and ran into the streets chanting, throwing flowers into the air and burning their homes in anticipation of being greeted by Shamballa-the-lesser and spiritually transported to their home on Alpha Centauri (you think I'm making this stuff up! Ha - check the link).
Enraged at the loss of the satellite, the CHP then began to execute their backup plan. It was at that time that I passed a sign that said "Patrolled by Aircraft". Hmm, what could one little Cessna do - pop me with a paintgun so a patrol car could pick me out of the fray and slap with an infraction? Ha! Let 'em try.
Well, as I got south of Yreka as you know the speed limit kicks up to 75 MPH. Which means, you can drive close to 80 MPH and likely not get ticketed (this is Dave Mundt conventional wisdom and not what really might happen to you!). So, to make up some time and knowing that I'd taken out the satellite, I boosted up to about 95 - 105 MPH.
As I sped toward my destination this conversation was occurring:
"Blue Leader One, this is Firebase Charlie. Do you copy?" "Blue Leader One, copy". "Blue Leader One, we've got reports of a fast mover 10 klicks south of of Yreka, going south. Black Ford Ranger license Whiskey Foxtrot November Six Seven Eight. Abort current mission, intercept fast mover and remove from freeway with extreme prejudice. confirm mission". "Firebase Charlie, this is Blue Leader One copying abort current mission and intercept and destroy speed violator on India - Five".
Blue Leader One was a F-15 Eagle, and it's current mission was performing strafing runs on Marijuana plantations concealed in the Trinity Alps (it is said that on the Trinity Alps if you listen carefully you can hear the DEA helicopters searching out marijuana plantation sites even on the quietest night). The pilot yanked the control yoke, and hit the afterburner while calculating the fuel cost of intercepting me and the potential of return to battle the evil drug dealers taking cover in some of the most beautiful and rugged areas of the Pacific Northwest. As the twin 34,000 horsepower General Electric engines roared their fury, I continued on unaware of the impending disaster.
The pilot reached me in minutes, and radioed Firebase Charlie - "Firebase Charlie, Blue Leader One reports target in sight and commencing operation speed justice". Firebase Charlie replied with those chilling words no Interstate Five motorist ever wants to hear - "Blue Leader One, you are cleared for mission completion. Take 'em out, Joe".
Blue Leader One banked the Eagle into a hard turn to position himself in an advantageous position for weapon acquisition. The flightsuit bladders filled with compressed air to keep Joe's blood out of the trunk of his body and in his head as much as possible to reduce the probabillity of brownout or blackout. Joe grunted as his peripheral vision narrowed, and then he came out of the turn and was coming up on my tail at over 900 MPH. Knowing he would quickly overshoot me, he pushed his nose up 30 degrees and popped his air brake to bleed off speed, and then gently came nose down. The synthetic aperture radar had no trouble acquiring me as belied by the "deedle deedle deedle" tone in his headset. With chilling lack of emotion of the drama that was about to play out, the onboard weapons computer reported in a bland voice "target acquired". Joe selected a AGM-65 Maverick air to surface missile, and was rewarded with a "missile lock" confirmation.
At the same time, my XM Radio display changed
from the music format to combat mode. Just as the Eagle had acquired me, it had also acquired the attack aircraft. "Warning! Warning!" it shrieked, "Missile Lock! Missile Lock!". I glanced up to see the sight of the combat jet filling my rearview mirror.
The pilot flicked the launch button, and the missile leapt off the rails and screamed toward me. Reacting quickly, I stomped on the gas and felt 220 of Ford Motor Company's finest horsepower kick me back into the seat as I accelerated wildly. With no time to spare I had one, and only one; option. There was a semi tractor-trailer ahead of me, and I came right up on it's tail merging my heat signature with the deisel Allison V-8 powered Kenworth. Tracking the missile in my mirror, at the last second I stomped the brakes and the missile overshot me and acquired the Kenworth.
Fortunately, the driver of the rig had opened the door and jumped to safety as the 40 pound warhead exploded 20 feet from the target as designed, and thousands of white hot fragments of depleted uranium shredded the truck and it's cargo. The cargo turned out to be fireworks, and the late afternoon sky turned brilliant as secondary explosions illuminated every square inch of sky and land for a 40 mile circumference. The pilot, who was sure that his targed had been obliterated; banked away and charlie miked (continue the mission) back to the alps. Shaken by the eposide, I resumed driving at the posted speed limit. The Lemurians, freaked out by all the activity, continued to hide in their underground cities to the great disappointment of the citizens of Mt. Shasta.
And the California Highway Patrol? Their souls burdended by the unsuccessful attempts to remove me, gathered for donuts and sighed.
