The Scene of the Crime

This lovely spot is along US 289 at the north end of the Grand Tetons National Park, just a bit south of the entrance to Yellowstone. This was my second occasion to spend some time along this roadside, the first being back in August of 1999. However, the story actually begins in February of that year, a couple of thousand miles away in the little town of Tuxedo, New York, just upstate from the City.
It was in the quaint little speedtrap of Tuxedo that I received a speeding ticket. The speed limit went from 55 to like, 18, instantly, and the cop was just beyond the sign. He was a jerk, and I was annoyed. I was also pretty broke at the time, not having budgeted any money for unwarranted traffic tickets, so I just didn't pay it. Looking back, not so smart.
I had just recently moved from Tennessee to the City, so a couple of months later I finally got around to switching my license over to New York State. I was fairly certain that my unpaid indiscretion would come up in the system, but nothing was said by the exceedingly pleasant NYC DMV officer. I assumed that the ticket was lost in the system, and having changed my license to a different state, I was home free. Again, not so smart.
Come August, I took a few weeks off to make a cross-country roadtrip to visit my friend Jason in Portland, Oregon. I did not at all have the financial resources to make such a trip. I did, however, have Mr. Visa, who was getting to be my best friend at the time. My car at the time was a little blue Toyota Tercel with about a billion miles on it. Though it would unknowingly die a violent death six months later it was still a great car, but unable to get cross-country. By doing some research, however, I discovered that it was insanely cheaper (by about $200) to rent a car in Columbus, Ohio, than in NYC.
So early one morning I headed west in my little blue Tercel, drove about 8 hours to Columbus to get my rental car, stopped off in Louisville to have dinner with a friend, and was home to my parents house in Missouri by midnight. I drove really fast. Once a cop pulled out and I was sure I was caught, but he pulled over the car behind me.
It was, in the beginning, a wonderful trip. Before then, I had never been west of Colorado. I hit Utah, Tahoe, San Francisco, and drove up the coast through the redwoods to Portland. I had a terrific time hanging out with my friends there. We went to the beach. We went to the mountains. We saw Lucinda Williams perform in a small club. Great times. I next detoured up through Seattle, crossed the border to Vancouver, then headed east. Cutting southeast through Montana, I spent the day in Yellowstone, and was heading to Jackson, Wyoming to spend the night when I got right about to the spot where I took that picture.
Turns out I was speeding. A park ranger pulled me over. I was a little annoyed, more hungry than anything because it was close to dinner. He went back to his car and did his thing, then came back up to me and said something like, "Did you know your license got revoked about two months ago?"
No. No I did not. I (not so smart) had actually forgotten about the unpaid ticket until he told me the reason why I had driven 5000 miles without a license.
The good news was, he didn't arrest me, which he could have. Actually, he was pretty nice. The rest of the news was all bad. Driving without a license, now a federal offense since it was on national park land: $400. I was in the middle of the wilderness, about 40 miles from Jackson, unable to drive my car, which was going to be impounded. A tow truck out from Jackson and back for the car, plus a cab for me (why I couldn't ride in the truck was never satisfactorily explained), not cheap at all. On the plus side, the cabbie tried desperately to talk the tow truck driver into letting me have my car, wherein I would make my escape as some sort of fugitive. Looking back, it was probably a good thing he didn't go for it.
So the cabbie dropped me off at the Super 8. I didn't have any money. There was no way to get the car out of impound, and I was alone, 2300 miles from home. Paying the ticket (with money I didn't have) and processing it through the system would have taken days. I had to make the phone call.
I've called my dad for assistance many times, but for some reason I thought this might be different. I thought I was going to be happy that we were separated by several states, but he was very calm when I explained the situation. Our conversation, as I remember it, was fairly short, and ended along the lines of him saying: "I'll see what I can do."
The next morning I discovered there was a rental car outlet in Jackson where I could drop off my car, and even better, they did not charge me the full drop charge. Dad bought me a plane ticket out of Salt Lake City. A shuttle operated between Jackson and the airport and would leave about six the next morning.
I was still broke. The unexpected expenses of the past 24 hours had maxed out Mr. Visa. He was no longer my friend. Fortunately, Jackson had a youth hostel so I had a cheap bed for my last night in Wyoming. I got up early, early the next morning and walked about a mile to the shuttle pickup for the five hour trip to Salt Lake. My flight didn't leave for another day, so I had a lovely 24 hour stay in the SLC airport. If I remember right I budgeted enough money for one meal for that 24 hours, at the Burger King. I couldn't afford anything on the extra value menu. I think I ate some fries.
The next day, however, I was back home. I was so broke that I couldn't afford a whole cab ride to my apartment from LaGuardia, instead instructing the driver to stop when the money ran out. I then walked a few blocks, used a Metrocard, and took the subway the rest of the way home.

So I guess you're wondering if I learned any lessons. A few. Since then, Mr. Visa is no longer a friend. Once paying him off I've been more or less credit card free ever since. Another lesson: Always pay your traffic tickets. The law always wins. Seems obvious enough. And a big thanks to dad, who did what fathers do, love their sons and help them even when they are breathtakingly stupid.
And, finally, if you were astute you realized that while I flew back to New York, my little blue Tercel was still in long term parking in Columbus. And there it stayed, for several weeks, until I was able to afford a one-way ticket to bring it home. Other than a flat tire that had to be changed, it was just as I left it. It started beautifully, and made the trip back to the City without any problems. That was a great car.