One of my more humorous encounters with police (I did tell you of discussing philosophy with a Pennsylvania state trooper who, searching my backpack when I was a 16-year-old hitchhiker , discovered a volume of “The Collected Works of Bertrand Russell”?) was a late night run through Wiscasset, past midnight, heading with a friend to his house near Round Pond. I was probably doing 80 – hey, no one else (besides the unseen trooper) was on the road – but I was nailed dead to rights. I found my registration right away and handed it over but, fumbling through my wallet I couldn’t immediately find my driver’s license but did come across my Greenwich Clam Warden id, so I gave him that to entertain him while I continued the search for my license. I did find it, eventually, but by then the cop had examined the Clam Warden card and he handed it back to me and said, “okay, you can go, but slow down, would you?”.
Gotta love seafaring towns and police discretion.