Lead (pronounced Leed), South Dakota; "I'm telling you you're going too fast" says my Canadien born and raised bass player. Clearly an expert on snow and ice.
"We're barely rolling now, man" I say.
"Man, we're going too fast" he warns in a melodic tone.
We had finished the night's gig at the Saloon # 10 in Deadwood and were anxious to get back to our rooms further up the mountain in Lead which is a mile high in elevation. We were practically out of weed and the "dude" was coming by after the bar closed.
It had been snowing in Lead where as it was only rain in Deadwood.
Yeah "Damn! That's slicker than goose shit on linoleum" I remark as we edge slowly towards the steep grade down the main drag towards our motel. It was starting to really ice up and I did my best to go slow but it's no use as we start gaining speed.
I aim for the slush along the gutters to help slow us down. The speed limit is 15MPH but I can only manage to keep it at 30MPH. The brakes are useless in those conditions as you can't steer a locked tire on ice.
Setting at the bottom of the steep grade is a Lawrence County deputy sheriff.
"Well shit boys! We're going to get pulled over" and sure enough he lights us up as he gets on our tail.
We smelled of bar and the cops are known to be zero tolerance for ANYTHING in South Dakota.
"I can pull over now and we'll have to pay towing and impound fees or we can just go the two blocks and park it at the motel".
"MOTEL!" was the unanimous vote as the boys all had things they'd rather not have found by the police during a search on the main drag.
We're doing the posted speed limit which is now 25MPH and slowing. I put on the turn signal as I drive past several opportunities to pull over as we make our way to the motel. It's the wee hours of the morning, the officer is loathe to use the siren.
CHIRP, CHIRP, WHEWW, WHEWW as I finally turn onto the street that goes to the motel parking lot. I have to speed up to get some momentum in order to avoid getting stuck mid-turn into the parking lot. This does not make the officer happy.
We come to a stop as far as we could pull in before getting stuck in the snow, the boys quickly bailout and head for the back door to the motel. I jump out wearing my wool socks and flip flops and walk towards the police SUV.
The officer jumps out of his vehicle red faced mad. He begins to curse at me for not obeying his take down lights but he busts his ass on the ice. I trot over offering a hand up and for a second he forgot how mad he was.
That didn't last long as he asked in an excited manner," Why didn't you stop when I turned my lights on?!". I told him once he smelled my breath he'd be taking me to jail and I didn't want to pay for the van to be towed plus impound charges.
His eyes widened at the admission but I'm a cut to the chase kind of guy, a quit blowing on the fur and get to the hide type.
"License and registration" he demands.
"Damn! I left my wallet setting on top of the sound console at the club".
It's a small area kind of like the Florida Keys so everyone KNOWS everyone and he knew we were the band at the # 10.
I could feel his anger starting to build so I suggested that he run the tags on the van and he could verify my information that way. I even know my drivers license number by memory (another long story). "Nobody knows their driver license number" he mumbles as I give him the number off the top of my head.
"How much have you had to drink tonight?"
"Well, let's see here...", he can tell I'm giving it serious thought. "I had six or seven Beam on the rocks, five or six beers, a couple of shots of tequila, a couple shots of Jager, a couple shots of Goldschlager, a shot of Ouzo and a shot of Sambuca."
His eyes widen again.
"I like to do shots with everybody" I said.
He just stood there, jaw hanging wide open. It took a few seconds for him to process that someone had actually told the truth about how much they've had to drink.
I wasn't slurring my words or staggering around, in fact, I'm getting around on the ice really good for a guy wearing wool socks and flip flops that had consumed enough adult beverages for 4 people.
We get in his vehicle to wait for the dispatcher to respond and I continue to assault his logic saying, "It's funny how some people can drink a whole bottle of Jack and you'd never know it and other people get falling down drunk on two beers." He nods his head in agreement.
He pulls out a little black box and inserts a straw explaining it's a breath alcohol detector and that the results aren't allowed in court, it's just a tool blah, blah, blah.
I ask him why he wants me to do it knowing I'm going to fail it.
"To make me feel better" he says.
"OK" I say as I blow on the straw with the same force as if I were playing the kazoo. The green light turned red in a second.
"Never seen it change colors that fast before", he says.
There's really no fair way of doing a physical sobriety test when it's 20 degrees and snowing big, giant, sticky snowflakes in an ice covered parking lot.
"I guess I could take you to county and do an official breath-a-lizer but that's an hours ride."
"The way I process liquor I'll probably blow 0.0", I say.
He nods his head in agreement.
Just then the drummer knocks on the now snow covered window and the officer rolls it down a little..
"Hey are you taking him to jail or not. I'm making breakfast and I need to know how many eggs to cook. Why don't you come on in and I'll make you breakfast. You ever had grits before?"
Again the officer is at a complete loss for words.
"Uh well, no, I mean Grits? Uh umm, no, I was going to meet some friends for breakfast..." the bewildered officer says.
"Well, YOU can feed him if you take him to jail" says the drummer, "I just want to know how many eggs to make."
Finally dispatch comes through and all my info checks out, no outstanding warrants.
"I'm going to stop at the # 10 tomorrow and you better have your license and registration!" And with that I'm free to go.
Or so we thought.
We finished breakfast and decide to smoke our last joint in anticipation of the "dude" showing up with a sack of weed.
The front door to our suite has a huge gap underneath and when we smoke pot the sweet smell fills the hallway can be detected all the way to the street which usually isn't a problem at 4AM.
A short while later a knock at the door and we're thinking it's the "dude", FINALLY! I fling the door wide open and it's the cop. Our hopeful hearts sank immediately as Kork tries to hide the rolling tray up under the coffee table but what's the use. We're BUSTED.
But the officer says, "I don't want to come in." He looks at me and says, "Finish your beer, grab your shoes and come with me."
I'm dumbfounded.
The drummer asks the cop whats up. "He knows". The drummer replies, "No, he don't know".
"I search my car before and after every shift and he's the only one that's been in my car all night and I found a bag of marijuana".
My drummer and I exchange glances because he KNOWS we're out of weed.
"I know it ain't his 'cause if it was that would mean he's been holding out on us and we would kick his ass", says the drummer.
The cop insists that the sack belongs to me and the officer and I head out the FRONT door of the motel as he is parked across the street at the convenience store. He was wearing gloves and I wished I had because it was cold and getting colder fast.
He pulls a plastic baggy out of his pocket and tries handing it to me. I KNOW FOR A FACT that my fingerprints aren't on that bag so I refuse to touch it.
He shakes it insistently, "Just check it out" he says.
I politely refuse saying, "I know for a fact that's not mine." Still he persists, then he finally says, "I'll let you wipe off the bag, just check it out."
At this point we both "kind of" know he probably just busted some kids and took their weed and just wanted to find out if it was worth anything. I reluctantly take the sack in my frozen fingers and open it up and give it a big sniff.
"It smells like homegrown and it looks a little premature too", I observe.
"What do you think it's worth", he asks.
"Where I'm from you could get $20 for it, up here probably $50."
Before I got the chance to rub my fingerprints off the bag he snatched it out of my hands and repeated his earlier promise to stop by the # 10 to see my license and registration.
I noticed the clerk in the store had witnessed this entire bazaar exchange as I was waiting for the officer to pull away. We both shrugged our shoulders as I turned to cross the street.
An hour later the owner of the Saloon 10 called to tease about having to come bail me out of jail so they would have a band...Nice to know that they really would've done it. I thought the Coconut Telegraph in the Keys was fast!
Alas the weed dude never showed up. The officer never came to check my license and registration. My freedom intact.
Truth is stranger than fiction. ☮️❤️😁🎶👣
Actual photo of the van and big ass snow flakes.
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