I know what you’re going to say - driving on the wrong side of the road is weird. But there’s much more to it than that.
More than any other country America has been built around the automobile. The car might have been invented by Europeans but Ford and others turned balky, recalcitrant beasts into a mass-produced vehicle that anyone could use, and use them America did.
It is a country uniquely set up for the motorist. In certain states you can get drive though liquor, pharmacy, cash point, and once a drive-through that sold both guns and booze. Texas.
This is subsidised by very cheap petrol. When I arrived in 2008 people were panicking because gas prices had risen to over $4 a gallon. Pointing out to the taxi driver that it was closer to $10 in the UK brought incredulity and horror. The US is built around low petrol prices - this is an auto nation.
Which is why it’s surprising that modern American cars suck quite so badly. I’ve seldom found an American rental car that’s fun to drive and built well. Admittedly I haven’t driven a Tesla yet but getting a Chevy, GM or Chrysler from the rental shop fills my heart with dread. I know I’m going to get a poorly-built vehicle with the throttle lag of a stoned snail and the cornering ability of Concorde on roller skates.
America still makes great muscle cars that, in the words of Douglas Adams, “Look like a fish, move like a fish, steer like a cow.” My father-in-law has a 1970s Camaro that is utterly beautiful as a work of design and has an engine with a roar that puts hairs on your chest, but is somewhat finicky when it comes to mechanical issues.
It was the same when I reviewed the 2015 Ford Mustang. The PR was so proud that this was the first Mustang to use a limited-slip differential, something most manufacturers had incorporated a decade ago. My former colleague Rory Reid loved the car, which is understandable as he has the skills to tame the beast, but it was a tad too much from my taste and skill level.
As a driving car it had its charms. The engine was a monster and the tyres nice and sticky. You could go from ten to 100 in the blink of an eye or the slip of a foot, the torque was amazing and if you stuck it in sports mode there was a lot of slidy fun to be had.
But the build quality would have made a BMW engineer’s fists itch. The bodywork was poorly finished and out of alignment, the interior trim was shoddy and it burned petrol faster than the Iraqis at the end of Gulf war I. Plus is was overloaded with tacky gimmicks, like the side mirrors that used LEDs to light up the pavement with prancing horse silhouettes or the glowing door panels.
So when my wife’s beloved Volvo died (yes, I married a hairy-legged Berkeley feminist who drove a Volvo - albeit one with an excellent subwoofer in the back) we bought a Prius. It’s about as exciting to drive as rice pudding, but it’s fuel-efficient and good enough.
This is subsidised by very cheap petrol. When I arrived in 2008 people were panicking because gas prices had risen to over $4 a gallon. Pointing out to the taxi driver that it was closer to $10 in the UK brought incredulity and horror. The US is built around low petrol prices - this is an auto nation.
Which is why it’s surprising that modern American cars suck quite so badly. I’ve seldom found an American rental car that’s fun to drive and built well. Admittedly I haven’t driven a Tesla yet but getting a Chevy, GM or Chrysler from the rental shop fills my heart with dread. I know I’m going to get a poorly-built vehicle with the throttle lag of a stoned snail and the cornering ability of Concorde on roller skates.
America still makes great muscle cars that, in the words of Douglas Adams, “Look like a fish, move like a fish, steer like a cow.” My father-in-law has a 1970s Camaro that is utterly beautiful as a work of design and has an engine with a roar that puts hairs on your chest, but is somewhat finicky when it comes to mechanical issues.
It was the same when I reviewed the 2015 Ford Mustang. The PR was so proud that this was the first Mustang to use a limited-slip differential, something most manufacturers had incorporated a decade ago. My former colleague Rory Reid loved the car, which is understandable as he has the skills to tame the beast, but it was a tad too much from my taste and skill level.
As a driving car it had its charms. The engine was a monster and the tyres nice and sticky. You could go from ten to 100 in the blink of an eye or the slip of a foot, the torque was amazing and if you stuck it in sports mode there was a lot of slidy fun to be had.
But the build quality would have made a BMW engineer’s fists itch. The bodywork was poorly finished and out of alignment, the interior trim was shoddy and it burned petrol faster than the Iraqis at the end of Gulf war I. Plus is was overloaded with tacky gimmicks, like the side mirrors that used LEDs to light up the pavement with prancing horse silhouettes or the glowing door panels.
So when my wife’s beloved Volvo died (yes, I married a hairy-legged Berkeley feminist who drove a Volvo - albeit one with an excellent subwoofer in the back) we bought a Prius. It’s about as exciting to drive as rice pudding, but it’s fuel-efficient and good enough.
That said, I’ve got my eyes on a Miata (Mazda MX-5) once I can economically justify it to myself. Had one in the late 90s and it was enormous fun. It's still a nicely-balanced car that was forgiving, not overly engineered and cheap enough to thrash around a circuit once in a while with some mods.
Welcome to the jungle
Had my first driving holiday here in 2005, when gas and cars were cheap, in US terms. Back then petrol was a couple of dollars a gallon and a week's car rental cost 120 quid when I booked it. I put over 2,000 miles on that car, driving Route One down the California coast to Hearst Castle, across to Las Vegas, round the Grand Canyon and into Utah then over the Rockies to Tahoe and down into Napa before returning to SF.
The different side of the road did fox me at first. The first night of driving I turned onto a highway and was dazzled by car headlights coming towards me. After a few seconds of processing time the brain went “You’re an idiot” and I pulled over, did some deep breathing and then did a u-turn to get back on track.
A few weeks after I moved out here I hit a small, green problem. For those of us of a certain age in the UK our driving licences were sheets of green watermarked paper with our credentials stamped on - no photo, no barcode, just a signature you put on yourself, Since it cost ten quid to get the new photo-ID laminated format, and mine was good until the 2020s, I saw no reason to change.
I’d reserved a U-Haul van to drive to Ikea (a store that is proof the Swedes may have given up going a-viking but can still bugger up your weekend with a lost instruction manual or hex key) in Emeryville and buy a bed, dresser and sundry supplies, but the rental place took one looked at my fold-out green paper British license and gave me the bum's rush.
Hertz was more used to the traditional British licence but had no vans. Instead they sold me on an SUV that should be able to carry my swag back home if enough seats were folded down. I got into the car, spent five minutes trying to start it before a staffer explained you needed to depress the brake pedal before the engine would fire up. Red faced, I set off on my route.
It was a nightmare ride. The SUV handled like a Sherman tank with pogo-stick suspension and driving across the old section of the Bay Bridge was bloody scary. The road is lined with steel girders, so if you're hit you’re in a world of hurt. Plus the fact that despite the 55mph speed limit I’ve seen people hit 70 regularly and 80 on occasion.
Street law in SF
After collecting my flat-pack furniture, I loaded up the car and headed home. But I hadn’t considered SF’s one-way road system. Many of the roads in the city are one way and I turned down a wrong street. Thankfully a good citizen jumped in front of the truck and stopped me, otherwise I wouldn't be writing this.
I got to my lodgings, unloaded the furniture and parked across the street. This, as it turns out, was a big no-no. It’s a bizarre American quirk that in many places you can only park in the direction of the flow of traffic. So if you see a parking space on the other side of the street you have to go past, turn around and see if it’s still there by the time you got back.
On the streets of San Francisco the rules are enforced with ruthless speed by the San Francisco Municipal Transportation Agency (SFMTA), who tool around the city on three-wheeled scooters called Interceptors - although rather different from Mad Max. But they can spot an infraction from 50 paces and have the same easy-going views on law breaking as the head of the Spanish Inquisition.
Park a car with the wheels not turned in to the pavements? That’s a fine. Park too far into the road? That’s another. Park too long to some pavement that’s the wrong color? That’ll be $237 please. You can even get ticketed for parking over the entrance to your own driveway, bizarrely enough.
I woke up the next morning to find I’d got my first ever parking ticket in 20 years of driving. In true passive-aggressive Californian style I’d been ticketed not for parking the wrong way round on the road, but for parking more than 18 inches from the pavement. The fact that I was about eight feet away from the correct pavement made this darkly comedic.
Thankfully this story has a happy ending. When I went to pay the ticket the cashier told me that it had been filled out wrong as the issuer had forgotten to sign it in the correct box. Thanks to form-filling rules my pristine driving record remains untouched and my wallet unemptied.
Getting street legal
If you’re over here for any length of time past three months then you need to get an American licence to drive. I know one Brit who would this out the hard way after not sorting this out for over a year; US cops do check and the penalties can be severe.
That said, the US driving test is a complete piece of piss compared to the UK exam, which I failed twice. There is no test for parallel parking, hill starts (since automatics are the morn) or three-point turns. What you do have to master are the sometimes arcane, but occasionally excellent driving rules over here.
As mentioned, if you are parking anywhere on a slope in SF you have to turn your wheels so that if the brakes fail you will roll into the kerb not the road - which in practice makes sense. The rules technically don’t apply on flat streets but hearsay is that the SFMTA carry spirit levels and a cold heart - so just swing the steering wheel as you park.
But the US leads the world in other traffic rules areas, such as the right hand turn. On most streets in most states you can turn right even on a red light if the road is clear - unless signposted otherwise. It’s a superb idea, saving both time and fuel, as delivery service UPS has shown.
As for the test, after some swotting you face a 36-question quiz and you’re allowed six wrong answers. It wasn’t too hard, I got two wrong but am still convinced the ‘correct’ answer on one was faulty if you had to take into account road curvature while hydroplaning. But you don’t argue with the Department of Motor Vehicles; its custodians aren’t to be messed with.
I’d been warned about the DMV within days of landing. Legends of endless queues (lines in Freedom tongue), slow and lazy staff and an obdurate attitude that made granite look easily moldable abounded. But the key thing is to book ahead and head to Oakland.
One visit to the main SF DMV is enough to convince me that a lot of the rumors were right; it was a mess. Very few staff, confusing system and a belligerent populace made life interesting, and I’ve yet to meet anyone who has had a good experience there. So I took some good advice and booked an appointment to the Oakland Rockridge DMV.
For Londoners, Rockridge is the equivalent of Notting Hill to the City of Oakland. A neighbourhood that isn't so much up-and-coming as has upped, come, and is having a post-establishment soy latte with a side of organic gluten-free bruschetta. A two-bedroom house with no view costs over a million in this suburb and a garden would double the price.
Booking an appointment means a two week waiting time - compared to three months in SF. The staff were rather helpful, if very strict. My hand slipped during my last eye test and was told in a tone that would not be brooked that I would have to retake the test from the start.
The driving section of the test was unusually easy - seven minutes from start to finish - but this might have been accidental. Five minutes into the test we came across another instructor’s car grounded on the central meridian of a road not far from the DMV.
I pulled over (applying the hazard lights just to be sure), my instructor shouted across to her colleague to make sure he was OK, and then told me to head back to the center. She signed off on the form, telling me to be sure to watch for stop signs, and hurried off. With that I was ready to roll.
Freeways - fun but occasionally unfriendly
One of the side effects of the Second World War was that US generals saw Germany’s autobahns and thought “We want some of that.” In the 1950s the US interstate highway system flourished and changed the nature of the country.
Interesting side note here - British motorways curve, by in large. This is to deal with hills in the way but also because the planners thought that people would be less likely to fall asleep at the wheel. In the US you can go over 100 miles of entirely straight roads, thanks in part to the wide-open spaces. It’s boring as all hell. You find yourself releasing the wheel and seeing how long it take before you have to steer again, just to break up the monotony.
Now, as the cliche goes, a trip of 100 miles is a long trip for a Brit, while 100 years is a long time for an American. The freeway system can make driving long distances across country a joy, but closer to cities where the populace commutes, it can be an absolute pain.
Take Silicon Valley. I live 50 miles from Google headquarters, but if they call a press conference at 9am then I know I’ll have to leave at 6:30am at the very latest to get there on time, and that's risking it. Sadly, taking Caltrain takes even longer, so I’ll usually take the BART train to the end of the line and Lyft it from there.
Driving on the freeway can also be unnerving. One change in the US driving test needs to be an appreciation of stopping distances. This was drilled into us in the British driving test, work out how far you would need to travel if the car in front slammed the anchors on. Over here that’s not taught it seems, and it really needs to be.
I’m a careful driver, I leave a lot of braking space just in case something goes wrong. But when you do so on California freeways two buggers then try and cram themselves into the gap you’ve left. It makes me wish for the old days of the Car Wars game, when mounting twin 50-calibre machine guns on the front of the car was considered acceptable. Undertaking is also a thing here, so you need to watch out in both mirrors for people who have watched too many Fast and Furious movies.
Pick your state
In the last decade I’ve driven in over a dozen states and they all have their own peculiarities. Here’s a quick capsule review:
California - Leaving aside the mad traffic during rush hour Golden State drivers are usually quite considerate. The roads are wide, the cops pleasant, and drivers who aren’t time stressed are largely sensible.
That said, LA is traffic hell, San Francisco is a pain to drive in with its multiple and seemingly arbitrary one-war streets, and don’t try getting across the Rockies between December and April unless you are going through one of two or three mountain passes - Tahoe is almost always open however.
But the Bay Area also has the Pacific Coast Highway, the finest driving road in the world I've yet seen. Although frequently buggered by landslides it winds its way along the California coastline taking you past amazing vistas, perilously engineered bridges, hoards of sea lions and the most expensive petrol stations outside of Alaska.
New Jersey - Possibly the most insane freeway driving ever. You haven’t felt buttock-clenching concern until you’ve been tailgated at 75mph by three tons of SUV driven by someone you suspect is one meth hit away from smashing you into a bloody puddle. Plus in New Jersey you aren’t allowed to fill your own car with petrol but must entrust that to someone who can’t get a better job.
Arizona - The roads are wide, the people friendly, and it’s the home of Navajo Nation. On my way to the Grand Canyon I stopped off at a diner and got chatting to a cop who clocked the accent (see earlier post). He explained that the police don’t go there, since the locals occasionally take potshots at them, so speeding isn’t a problem.
Welcome to the jungle
Had my first driving holiday here in 2005, when gas and cars were cheap, in US terms. Back then petrol was a couple of dollars a gallon and a week's car rental cost 120 quid when I booked it. I put over 2,000 miles on that car, driving Route One down the California coast to Hearst Castle, across to Las Vegas, round the Grand Canyon and into Utah then over the Rockies to Tahoe and down into Napa before returning to SF.
The different side of the road did fox me at first. The first night of driving I turned onto a highway and was dazzled by car headlights coming towards me. After a few seconds of processing time the brain went “You’re an idiot” and I pulled over, did some deep breathing and then did a u-turn to get back on track.
A few weeks after I moved out here I hit a small, green problem. For those of us of a certain age in the UK our driving licences were sheets of green watermarked paper with our credentials stamped on - no photo, no barcode, just a signature you put on yourself, Since it cost ten quid to get the new photo-ID laminated format, and mine was good until the 2020s, I saw no reason to change.
I’d reserved a U-Haul van to drive to Ikea (a store that is proof the Swedes may have given up going a-viking but can still bugger up your weekend with a lost instruction manual or hex key) in Emeryville and buy a bed, dresser and sundry supplies, but the rental place took one looked at my fold-out green paper British license and gave me the bum's rush.
Hertz was more used to the traditional British licence but had no vans. Instead they sold me on an SUV that should be able to carry my swag back home if enough seats were folded down. I got into the car, spent five minutes trying to start it before a staffer explained you needed to depress the brake pedal before the engine would fire up. Red faced, I set off on my route.
It was a nightmare ride. The SUV handled like a Sherman tank with pogo-stick suspension and driving across the old section of the Bay Bridge was bloody scary. The road is lined with steel girders, so if you're hit you’re in a world of hurt. Plus the fact that despite the 55mph speed limit I’ve seen people hit 70 regularly and 80 on occasion.
Street law in SF
After collecting my flat-pack furniture, I loaded up the car and headed home. But I hadn’t considered SF’s one-way road system. Many of the roads in the city are one way and I turned down a wrong street. Thankfully a good citizen jumped in front of the truck and stopped me, otherwise I wouldn't be writing this.
I got to my lodgings, unloaded the furniture and parked across the street. This, as it turns out, was a big no-no. It’s a bizarre American quirk that in many places you can only park in the direction of the flow of traffic. So if you see a parking space on the other side of the street you have to go past, turn around and see if it’s still there by the time you got back.
On the streets of San Francisco the rules are enforced with ruthless speed by the San Francisco Municipal Transportation Agency (SFMTA), who tool around the city on three-wheeled scooters called Interceptors - although rather different from Mad Max. But they can spot an infraction from 50 paces and have the same easy-going views on law breaking as the head of the Spanish Inquisition.
Park a car with the wheels not turned in to the pavements? That’s a fine. Park too far into the road? That’s another. Park too long to some pavement that’s the wrong color? That’ll be $237 please. You can even get ticketed for parking over the entrance to your own driveway, bizarrely enough.
I woke up the next morning to find I’d got my first ever parking ticket in 20 years of driving. In true passive-aggressive Californian style I’d been ticketed not for parking the wrong way round on the road, but for parking more than 18 inches from the pavement. The fact that I was about eight feet away from the correct pavement made this darkly comedic.
Thankfully this story has a happy ending. When I went to pay the ticket the cashier told me that it had been filled out wrong as the issuer had forgotten to sign it in the correct box. Thanks to form-filling rules my pristine driving record remains untouched and my wallet unemptied.
Getting street legal
If you’re over here for any length of time past three months then you need to get an American licence to drive. I know one Brit who would this out the hard way after not sorting this out for over a year; US cops do check and the penalties can be severe.
That said, the US driving test is a complete piece of piss compared to the UK exam, which I failed twice. There is no test for parallel parking, hill starts (since automatics are the morn) or three-point turns. What you do have to master are the sometimes arcane, but occasionally excellent driving rules over here.
As mentioned, if you are parking anywhere on a slope in SF you have to turn your wheels so that if the brakes fail you will roll into the kerb not the road - which in practice makes sense. The rules technically don’t apply on flat streets but hearsay is that the SFMTA carry spirit levels and a cold heart - so just swing the steering wheel as you park.
But the US leads the world in other traffic rules areas, such as the right hand turn. On most streets in most states you can turn right even on a red light if the road is clear - unless signposted otherwise. It’s a superb idea, saving both time and fuel, as delivery service UPS has shown.
As for the test, after some swotting you face a 36-question quiz and you’re allowed six wrong answers. It wasn’t too hard, I got two wrong but am still convinced the ‘correct’ answer on one was faulty if you had to take into account road curvature while hydroplaning. But you don’t argue with the Department of Motor Vehicles; its custodians aren’t to be messed with.
I’d been warned about the DMV within days of landing. Legends of endless queues (lines in Freedom tongue), slow and lazy staff and an obdurate attitude that made granite look easily moldable abounded. But the key thing is to book ahead and head to Oakland.
One visit to the main SF DMV is enough to convince me that a lot of the rumors were right; it was a mess. Very few staff, confusing system and a belligerent populace made life interesting, and I’ve yet to meet anyone who has had a good experience there. So I took some good advice and booked an appointment to the Oakland Rockridge DMV.
For Londoners, Rockridge is the equivalent of Notting Hill to the City of Oakland. A neighbourhood that isn't so much up-and-coming as has upped, come, and is having a post-establishment soy latte with a side of organic gluten-free bruschetta. A two-bedroom house with no view costs over a million in this suburb and a garden would double the price.
Booking an appointment means a two week waiting time - compared to three months in SF. The staff were rather helpful, if very strict. My hand slipped during my last eye test and was told in a tone that would not be brooked that I would have to retake the test from the start.
The driving section of the test was unusually easy - seven minutes from start to finish - but this might have been accidental. Five minutes into the test we came across another instructor’s car grounded on the central meridian of a road not far from the DMV.
I pulled over (applying the hazard lights just to be sure), my instructor shouted across to her colleague to make sure he was OK, and then told me to head back to the center. She signed off on the form, telling me to be sure to watch for stop signs, and hurried off. With that I was ready to roll.
Freeways - fun but occasionally unfriendly
One of the side effects of the Second World War was that US generals saw Germany’s autobahns and thought “We want some of that.” In the 1950s the US interstate highway system flourished and changed the nature of the country.
Interesting side note here - British motorways curve, by in large. This is to deal with hills in the way but also because the planners thought that people would be less likely to fall asleep at the wheel. In the US you can go over 100 miles of entirely straight roads, thanks in part to the wide-open spaces. It’s boring as all hell. You find yourself releasing the wheel and seeing how long it take before you have to steer again, just to break up the monotony.
Now, as the cliche goes, a trip of 100 miles is a long trip for a Brit, while 100 years is a long time for an American. The freeway system can make driving long distances across country a joy, but closer to cities where the populace commutes, it can be an absolute pain.
Take Silicon Valley. I live 50 miles from Google headquarters, but if they call a press conference at 9am then I know I’ll have to leave at 6:30am at the very latest to get there on time, and that's risking it. Sadly, taking Caltrain takes even longer, so I’ll usually take the BART train to the end of the line and Lyft it from there.
Driving on the freeway can also be unnerving. One change in the US driving test needs to be an appreciation of stopping distances. This was drilled into us in the British driving test, work out how far you would need to travel if the car in front slammed the anchors on. Over here that’s not taught it seems, and it really needs to be.
I’m a careful driver, I leave a lot of braking space just in case something goes wrong. But when you do so on California freeways two buggers then try and cram themselves into the gap you’ve left. It makes me wish for the old days of the Car Wars game, when mounting twin 50-calibre machine guns on the front of the car was considered acceptable. Undertaking is also a thing here, so you need to watch out in both mirrors for people who have watched too many Fast and Furious movies.
Pick your state
In the last decade I’ve driven in over a dozen states and they all have their own peculiarities. Here’s a quick capsule review:
California - Leaving aside the mad traffic during rush hour Golden State drivers are usually quite considerate. The roads are wide, the cops pleasant, and drivers who aren’t time stressed are largely sensible.
That said, LA is traffic hell, San Francisco is a pain to drive in with its multiple and seemingly arbitrary one-war streets, and don’t try getting across the Rockies between December and April unless you are going through one of two or three mountain passes - Tahoe is almost always open however.
But the Bay Area also has the Pacific Coast Highway, the finest driving road in the world I've yet seen. Although frequently buggered by landslides it winds its way along the California coastline taking you past amazing vistas, perilously engineered bridges, hoards of sea lions and the most expensive petrol stations outside of Alaska.
New Jersey - Possibly the most insane freeway driving ever. You haven’t felt buttock-clenching concern until you’ve been tailgated at 75mph by three tons of SUV driven by someone you suspect is one meth hit away from smashing you into a bloody puddle. Plus in New Jersey you aren’t allowed to fill your own car with petrol but must entrust that to someone who can’t get a better job.
Arizona - The roads are wide, the people friendly, and it’s the home of Navajo Nation. On my way to the Grand Canyon I stopped off at a diner and got chatting to a cop who clocked the accent (see earlier post). He explained that the police don’t go there, since the locals occasionally take potshots at them, so speeding isn’t a problem.
As this is a public blog I will say that I never once went over the speed limit and definitely didn’t blast through the Painted Desert with three figures on the speedometer and AC/DC cranked up to 11 on the stereo.
Maryland - Think New Jersey but with slightly more polite drivers (only slightly) but a system that will shake the money out of you. There are toll points everywhere - so much so that it cost more to drive across the state in tolls than it did in petrol costs. Also a pronunciation point. For British visitors the state isn't pronounced Mary-Land. In the same way Arkansas is spoken as Ark-en-sore not Ark-kansas Maryland is pronounced Murry-land. Using the wrong wordage may induce smirks.
Boston - Just don’t; life’s too short.
Nevada - Around the cities it’s pretty bad - lots of cops with quotas to fill, the Vegas strip should never be driven without a limo complete with fully stocked drinks cabinet, a chauffeur, and hardcore air conditioning. But out in the desert you can drive though amazing countryside for miles without seeing a soul and stop to viewtthe night in a low-light environment and enjoy the Milky Way in all its glory.
Florida - See Boston but 10 times worse, with the optional extra of someone using your nipples for target practice.
Utah - Possibly my favourite state to drive in. Nice wide roads, polite drivers and stunning scenery. Just remember to pack your snow tyres; you won't be allowed to some skiing resorts without them and if you’re in the state you will want to hit the slopes. Park City is without a doubt the best skiing I’ve had in the US.
Safety first
This post has gone on way too long. But I want to end on an important safety note for visitors.
If you are pulled over by the police for any reason while driving there is an etiquette that can be deadly not followed. Stop as soon as you see the lights, wind down the window, turn the engine off, and keep your hands on top of the steering wheel in plain sight as soon as possible.
I’m going to cover this in a later post but US and UK policing are very, very different. America is an armed society, or at least one in which law enforcement approaches everyone as if they could be carrying. Traffic cops have the worst of this; they get shot more often than most other kinds of police officers and adrenaline levels are high.
So don’t play the smart arse, never get out of the car, and issue a warning before you move. It may sound paranoid, but it’s not worth the risk. And that goes double if you’re not white, as experience has shown, sad to say.
In 2016 I covered the death of Philando Castile, who was shot during a routine traffic stop in Minnesota and bled out next to his girlfriend and four year-old daughter. It’s not the kind of story The Register would usually cover because of the lack of tech angle but she live streamed the killing on Facebook, and the police subsequently used her phone to try and delete the footage while blaming it on a glitch.
It subsequently emerged Castile informed the officer he had a gun in the car (he was a member of the National Rifle Association - which usually kicks up a storm when members are prosecuted but stayed quiet in this case), told the officer he was reaching for his licence, and was shot seven times while doing so. The officer involved was acquitted of any wrongdoing.
US policing has changed since Sergeant Esterhaus’ days in Hill Street Blues. For drivers, and for cops, heed his advice and “let’s be careful out there.”
Editor's note: This is getting out of hand, I can rant for hours it seems. The next post will be up when I have time.
