It was very cold this morning, in the teens, which is extreme for us here in the Dallas area. When it gets this cold, if there is any sign of impending moisture, schools and government offices tend to close. Face it, we do not know how to drive in "weather" and we are better off at home.

This morning I was driving east along U.S. Hwy 380 at full speed, about 60 miles per hour. The roadways were completely dry, and I was behind other traffic that was moving at the same pace. There was no one behind me.

As I approached Hardin Road, the signal turned to yellow. It was one of those moments: Can I stop safely, or do I go on through? I probably should have stopped, but I saw some sort of slow moving convoy of work vehicles approaching from the opposite direction, and I somehow processed that they were sand trucks, and therefore I should not apply my brakes in case of ice on the roadway.

The light turned red just as I entered the intersection.

I made the requisite "horrified that I did that" facial expression to signal to other motorists that I am not a jerk.

As I drove through the intersection, it became clear that the convoy was a street sweeper and not a sand truck. I never see street sweepers here in Texas, so where did this come from and why was it sweeping the center lane of the three westbound lanes?

As luck would have it, a police vehicle turned onto Hwy 380 from Hardin Road and began to follow me in my lane. There was no other traffic behind me, so it was glaringly obvious that he was behind me. I could even feel him glaring at me, running my plates.

He followed me for a while. I fumbled around the center console of my car for my work badge. At least if he saw the logo on the badge he would assume that I was poor and perhaps take pity on me and just issue a warning. Except for my car, while several years old, is considered a luxury vehicle. Crap.

So he followed me almost to Central Expressway, in that intimidating way that cops do, by driving near or behind one who has just committed some infraction.

Then he turned into Chic-Fil-A, a popular place for the officers to stop for a meal.

I seriously thought, as I continued straight and he turned into the parking lot, hooray, "Eat Mor Chikin!"