While driving through Arkansas I had a run-in with law enforcement . . . which showcased professionalism and the benefits of mutual respect.
I’ve been driving cross-country across the southern U.S. and it’s been a lovely trip. For the past many years, barring one summer trip to Civil War battlefields, my trips have been to Europe and Southeast Asia. They’ve been great trips and I’ve seen wonderful things. I don’t regret those travels at all.
Nevertheless, I really enjoy traveling in my own country. I like how vast America is. I like how friendly Americans are. I like American architecture, from the cheesiness of the roadside attractions to the charm of classic American houses, schools, and churches. I like the comfort of an American fast food place where I can get a cheap, reliable meal and a clean bathroom. I like that, with the chain motels, I can always find a clean room, in towns big and small. (Currently, Best Western is my favorite, just as it was when I was a child in the 1960s and early 1970s as a child traveling with my family.)
But this post is about entering Arkansas, for no other reason than that I want to tell the story. Within twenty miles of entering the state, I saw flashing lights in my rear view mirror, and it was clear that the Arkansas highway patrol officer wanted me to pull over. I did so responsibly and carefully and kept my hands on the steering wheel because I’ve been taught well.