I was out riding motorcycles with my cousins in Las Vegas when two police cruisers sped in front of us then stopped at the traffic light and set up a checkpoint in the intersection.
The cruisers were then joined by a couple of officers on motorcycles.
Panicking as I was riding with a long-expired license, I heard one of the police officers berating a young motorist who had asked the officer what she had done wrong. He said “you tell me, honey.”
Nervous, I pulled out of my lane and parked my motorcycle on the shoulder observing the police officers and trying to find out the reason for the checkpoint, which I soon realized was to check for valid licenses.
One of the officers came over to where my cousins and I were standing and asked one of them for his license, registration and insurance.
While looking them over, he turned to me and asked why I had parked my motorcycle off on the shoulder. I said I didn’t want block the lane in case an emergency vehicle happened to come by.
The officer gave me a thumbs up and said "good thinking.”
All the while I was contemplating how I could possibly get out of this mess, first thinking I should just come clean and tell the officer I didn’t have a valid license.
Just then, the officer asked to see my license.
I took my wallet out of my pocket, removed my license that had expired more than 20 years earlier and handed it to him.
He looked it over and said it had expired 20 years ago.
I told him the automatic renewal sticker was on the back but had faded a bit from having been in my wallet all that time.
He flipped the card over, squinted as he tried to read the sticker, flipped the license over again, studied the photo and told me I had aged pretty well.
He handed me back my license and told us we were free to be on our way.
Then I woke up.