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It was an idyllic autumn afternoon in Ontario. The colours, all reds, browns, oranges and yellows (coincidentially the same as the furniture, drapes and plush shag carpet my family had during the 70s) were in full rage. The Niagara Escarpment was in its glory.

It was the perfect day to take the kids to the pumpkin patch. So the wife (she loves it when I call her that) and I loaded the kids into the car and headed off to Andrew’s Scenic Acres. After a wagon ride and photo shoot in the pumpkin patch, a treasure hunt for the season’s last raspberries, and some time in the playground (where I schooled said wife at tetherball), we were all completely knackered. Mission accomplished. We bought some gourds, fresh cider and strawberry wine (they say ‘09 was a good year) and headed for home.

In the car, the kids and the wife fell asleep quickly. I switched the IPod from the Wiggles to my own melancholy but cathartic mix of music and turned up the volume a little, and then a little more. Any sudden volume changes could send this rare peace into a rapid tailspin.

With nothing but blue sky above, horse meadows around and open road ahead I settled into my seat, savouring the moment. That’s when I saw him. He stepped out of the ditch at the shoulder waving both arms. What had happened? Had his car overturned? Did he need help? Or was he some lunatic attempting to highjack my car? Most likely the latter. I steered left to go around him and hit the gas a little.

It was after I passed him that my rearview mirror immediately revealed this unmarked cop’s unmarked cruiser tucked neatly away beneath a crimson maple. The flashing lights on the dash a perfect match for the leaves above. I pulled over.

He clocked me at 100 in an 80. And of course there’s no excuse. He said he could have lowered it to 99, which would have been a significantly smaller fine and less points. But he’d been burned too many times by cutting people slack. I don’t know how. Maybe I should have asked. But he’d taken note that I’d been very cooperative and said I could ask the prosecutor to lower the fine. I was hoping he had put down some special wink/nudge code for that.

So today Burt Reynolds is off to the prosecutor with two kids in tow wondering what kind of first impression the Movember pushbroom is going to make. I can’t imagine it will be good. Do I tell him it’s for charity? Do I ask him whether he’s had his prostate checked recently? Or maybe it’s a she. I can only hope she was a fan of Magnum P.I. Then again, my wispy face fuzz doesn’t exactly live up to that standard.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and they’ll just want to focus on my speeding ticket and prior record.