A Speeding Ticket

In this episode, A Speeding Ticket . . .

This week I wanted to share an exciting bit of trivia from one of my online subscription newsletters, Interesting Facts that you might enjoy. Have you ever gotten a speeding ticket? Did you know that the first-ever speeding ticket was issued to a driver going 8 miles an hour?

Walter Arnold probably didn’t think he’d be making history when he took his “horseless carriage” for a spin through the humble English village of Paddock Wood in the borough of Tunbridge Wells in Kent, England, on January 28, 1896. But make history he did — by traveling at a blinding pace of 8 miles per hour on the main thoroughfare. And while you may find it difficult to believe that a bicycle-riding constable was able to catch up to him, the low-speed pursuit led to Arnold paying the first-ever speeding ticket.

The story has it, speeding wasn’t all he was charged with. Arnold was cited on four accounts: using a “locomotive without a horse” (the nerve!) and on a public road, operating said contraption with fewer than three people, failing to display his name and address on that absolute manifestation of speed, and, finally, traveling at a higher velocity than 2 miles per hour.

Arnold, one of England’s first car dealers, was driving a Benz that fateful day and paid more than $300 in today’s money for his quartette of criminality. However, a few months later, he began marketing his own Arnold Motor Carriage to the public, a variant on the very Benz he was driving. Whether the whole thing was a publicity stunt or mere coincidence has never been proven.

There you have it. Be reminded that anything outside the norm is subject to criticism within the law. I would not suggest driving so slowly these days, especially on a freeway; you too will get a speeding ticket.

I’m Patrick Ball; thanks for listening; see you in the next episode.

Comments

Opening Day Magic 2026 . . .

It’s back. Baseball—yes, baseball ! If you’re someone who finds themselves inexplicably drawn to this peculiar ritual, let’s be honest with each other: it’s a bit odd, right? I mean, 162 games. That’s a lot of hot dogs, a lot of standing around, and a lot of grown men in oddly tailored trousers spitting with remarkable precision. And yet, here we are, poised on the precipice of another season. Thursday, March 26, 2026, to be precise—Opening Day. It’s a curious thing, this Opening Day. You walk into a stadium, or turn on the TV, and suddenly, everyone is infected with a highly contagious strain of . . . Optimism . It’s a spectacular form of collective amnesia. All of last year’s fumbles, the endless losing streaks, the existential dread of watching your bullpen implode in the eighth inning—poof. Gone. It’s entirely replaced by a wide-eyed, childlike belief that this year, finally, the baseball gods will smile upon us. The Cycle of Hope and Despair As a Cubs fan, I know this cycle intim...

Overcooking the Grid

In this episode, terrified of smart toasters, yet demanding infinite electricity for potato personality tests. Pull up that chair again, and let’s hope your coffee is safe this time. In our last chat, we talked about our well-meaning but occasionally delusional AI friend, Chef Adamas, and his penchant for hallucinating blueberries into your Carbonara. We learned how to manage his quirks by keeping our “digital pantry” organized. But today, we need to look past the chef and take a hard look at the sheer size of the kitchen we are building for him. And folks, that kitchen has gotten completely out of hand. Down in Louisiana, tech companies are currently building an artificial intelligence data center the size of 70 football fields. It is a four-million-square-foot digital brain that requires so much electricity they are building three new natural gas power plants just to keep the servers from literally melting down into a puddle of expensive silicon. And what are we using this god-like, ...

Sierra Reflections 2011

Wrapped in the cozy warmth of a down bag I’m jolted awake from a deep slumber - nature calls. The silence is shattered by the rustle of my sleeping bag. The sweet aroma of the mountain fills the air, and that ever-present biting crisp air on your cheeks! The zipper moans as you free yourself, then the struggle to find your wool sweater, pants, and shoes to stumble into the brisk morning air. Another zipper whines as you crawl to escape the protection of your mountain shelter. Quietly . . . do not disturb is the invisible sign worn by your fellow campers. Photo: Robert Weldon Darkness surrounds you, it's early morning, late summer. It’s tranquil, except for the soft gurgle of the trout stream that lulled you to sleep the night before. Finally - clear weather, the rains have stopped; millions of stars twinkle like tiny sparkling diamonds against a pitch-black sky. Orion, the hunter is clearly visible in the eastern sky; careful inspection you can see ...

The "Doctor" Who Never Was

In this episode: The "Doctor" Who Never Was — A Return to the World of Seuss. Let’s take a trip back to March 2, 2022. I was four years younger, significantly more naïve, and I made the mistake of asking an innocent question that—somehow—still echoes through the halls of pediatric offices everywhere: Where exactly did the name Dr. Seuss come from? Because if we pause for even a moment, the whole thing is absurd. At some point, we collectively decided to accept moral guidance, life advice, and the occasional existential gut‑punch from a man whose résumé included oversized footwear, gravity‑defying cats, and an aggressive campaign to convince us that green ham was not only edible, but desirable. No white coat. No stethoscope. No medical board. Just rhymes. This wasn’t really a question about a title. It was a question about authority—and how easily we accept it when it comes wrapped in whimsy and ends with a couplet. Theodor Seuss Geisel was born in Springfield, M...

On The Fly

Search This Blog