So, for the first time this year, I finally get to go out for a scoot on the bike, and I was having a grand time until a riding buddy points out to me that my licence plate sticker was out of date….wait for it…by eight months!
Eight months is long enough to cover most of the gestation period of Homo Sapiens. It is sufficient time to go from 25C to -25C and back again. Well, in Canada anyway. You do not ride in winter in Canada (at least the sane folk do not), so it had not occurred to me to renew the plate sticker at the time. Plum forgot to be honest. Apparently that timeframe allocation is also sufficient for one’s brain to become atrophied as well, because in addition to flaunting the rules of the road on one level, some unrecognizable part of my brain also thought it would be ever so funny to up the ante by also leaving my wallet at home … containing my drivers licence AND bike insurance. Side-splitting stuff.
It was time to go home. Preferably as inconspicuously as possible.
I believe each of us have a built-in, super-sensitive, track-while-scanning search radar embedded somewhere beneath our cranium, for times like these. At least those who ride motorcycles do. Mine came online of its own accord, in a significantly shorter span of time than it takes to say “Oh Crap!” Keeping a watchful eye out for the elements of traffic authority who would love to make an example of this (involuntary) law breaker, immediately became the top priority.
Thankfully in this instance, I was spared the rod of legal correction, and made it home with more wisdom than when I initially departed.