It was Sunday night. I had been visiting my uncle. We’d just found out he was terminal with cancer: needless to say, watching my speed wasn’t at the front of my mind. Knowing how tough laser is to detect, I have an anti-laser cover on my front plate.
I was on Long Island, heading up the Seaford-Oyster Bay Expressway (notorious for its speed traps), probably doing, well, why cop a plea here? I was a good 200 yards behind the car in front—usually I don’t leave myself out in the open like that—when V-1 went off with its siren-like laser alert. Instinctively, I slammed on the brakes, dropped to 55, and scanned for the source. Lo, there he was on a hill, hiding behind nothing but the cover of night. Again, V1 gave its laser alert.
A few seconds passed, followed by a strong Ka radar warning. Ol’ Smoky must have had a hard time acquiring my speed with laser, and had to resort to radar. Too bad for him that V-1 spotted him well before he could do the switch-a-roo.