the short arm of the law

Yesterday I popped down to Hot Shots, a small cafe in Cranbrook, who in my opinion have the best double shot of espresso in town. Consistent, small, strong, and sweet. (Which also adequetly describes my wife...heh). I was pulling up on my scoot, and I noticed three police cars parked near the patio area, and I realized I could get in serious doo doo.

Back in early March, when I went down to get my Class 6 learner's license, and after getting into the mind of the question writers (I failed the first time from poorly worded and double meaning questions) I was getting my picture taken by the lady behind the counter. I asked her "So, when can I do the parking lot test?" She told me that they hadn't set up the parking lot yet, and once the snow stopped flying, they would do that. So I asked here where I could practice in the meantime. Since I don't know anyone with a motorcycle, and technically you are supposed to have someone following you all the time, until you get the restricted Class 6. She shrugged her shoulders and said "Practice where you can". I took that to mean "Drive around, but take it easy".

So when I pull up at this coffee shop, my first realization is that I still haven't done the parking lot test, and that technically I shoudn't be driving this thing by myself (even though I can't really go any faster than a 50cc scooter, the Lambretta is a 150cc and qualifies as a motorcycle) and here are 4 cops sitting there watch me pull up.

I hesitated...did i really need a shot of espresso that bad?

I did.

I gambled.

I won. I felt like James Dean, flaunting my lawlessness wantonly in front of the apparently not-very-long arm of the law. I am a Rebel without a Hog.