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The Answer To A Puzzling Question

When I did a story about broken traffic signals in Raleigh I stumbled across the answer to a question that had bothered me, and here it is:

Why did the percentage of black drivers who were charged with traffic offenses by the N.C. State Highway Patrol increase so dramatically in Raleigh after midnight?   I knew that was so because I examined the troopers’ citation database on several occasions when I was an investigative reporter at The New & Observer.

[The trooper database enabled The N&O to answer a question most drivers ask themselves: How fast can you go in North Carolina without getting caught?  The answer: nine mph over the limit.  About 98, 99 percent speeding tickets written by troopers charged the driver with going 10 miles per hour or more over the limit.  “Nine you’re fine, 10 you’re mine,” one trooper told me.]

But what about the disproportionate number of black drivers charged after midnight in Raleigh?   Was the patrol profiling, stopping black drivers, looking for evidence of other crimes and, not finding it, writing traffic citations?

I had helped report a Driving While Black story earlier.  Joe Neff, another N&O investigative reporter, and I wrote about a State Highway Patrol drug interdiction team operating on Interstates 85 and 95 that had charged black male drivers at nearly twice the rate other troopers had charged black males working the same highways, during the same time periods. In most cases, those black men were charged with minor traffic violations and no drugs were found.

Was something like that happening in Raleigh or was it just because there are a lot more blacks, and a lot fewer whites, up and about in the wee hours of the morning?    I didn’t write that story because I didn’t know the answer to that question, and the answer matters a lot.

IMG_6807The traffic signal story forced me to go to work at 4 a.m., when traffic was light in some areas and pretty much non-existent in others. I drove all over Raleigh, in black and white neighborhoods, filming traffic signals that weren’t operating properly.  At that time of the morning, when there is little or no traffic, they really stick out.

I discovered, at 4:15 a.m., I have could have parked my car in the middle of Six Forks Road, the main artery from  Raleigh into mostly white North Raleigh, got out, peed, and a lot of times no would have noticed. I didn’t, but I could have.

Sometimes there were no vehicles on Six Forks as far as I could see in either direction. People who lived in North Raleigh and other mostly white sections must have been asleep at that time of the morning.

But in South Raleigh, which was predominately black, a lot of people were out and about. I saw people sitting on their porch, smoking cigarettes. People on sidewalks, headed somewhere. People standing on the corner, listening to music, talking with their friends.  And a big majority of drivers I saw before 5 a.m. were black.

I wouldn’t bet my life on it but I think that is the explanation for those weird highway patrol stats.

NOTE:  Reporting on broken traffic signals doesn’t sound like much of a story, but it turned out all right.  I expanded the story, reporting that a lot of signals on U.S. 70, toward the coast, didn’t work properly either. The N.C. Department of Transportation responded with a multi-million dollar statewide signal improvement program.

Coming Monday: My Father’s Advice: Don’t Do What I Did

Algonquin, A Dream Come True!

Earlier this month I scratched an itch I’ve had for 21 years.

What a beautiful place it is.
Algonquin: It’s beautiful.

A friend of mine and I drove to Ontario, Canada, to Algonquin, a park almost three times the size of Rhode Island, put our gear in 15-foot canoes, and took off.

GRRRR, that’s my friend’s trail name, and I paddled down the Roanoke River two years ago, 113 miles from Weldon, N.C., to Plymouth. He’s pretty old, 72, but he’s solid.

GRRRR, crossing another beaver dam.
GRRRR, crossing another beaver dam.

At Algonquin we crossed 18 lakes, padding, or dragging, our canoes up and down creeks, through marshes, or portaging, from lake to lake. We hauled our canoes over I don’t know how many beaver dams. We got rained on, hard sometimes. In the evening we pitched our tents close to the water and cooked over a camp fire.  And for seven nights we heard the eerie call of loons and, sometimes, wolves howling in the distance.

It was a wonderful trip, everything I had hoped it would be.

Emily Fox at Algonquin
Emily Fox at Algonquin: I wanted to do what she did.

I’ve wanted to do that ever since I heard Emily Fox, one of Brother Pop’s grand daughters, tell about her Algonquin adventure in 1998, when she was a 20-year-old junior at Auburn University.  She spent a couple of weeks there with a dozen or so classmates.  Hearing her stories made me want to go but I just never had time –or made time — until earlier this month.

Algonquin is a big [1.9 million acres, 1,500 lakes] provincial park.  Remote, too. One day GRRRR and I saw more moose [3] than people [2].

Sometimes we had to get out and walk.
Sometimes we had to get out and walk.

It is beautiful and, at times, challenging.  My guess is that Algonquin [and Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness in Minnesota] is for boaters what the John Muir Trail is for hikers.

We paddled almost 50 miles, not very far unless you consider that for miles, it seemed to us, we didn’t actually paddle, we dragged our canoes through shallow marshes and creeks to the next lake, not entirely unlike Humphrey Bogart in “The African Queen.”  Yea, I know, the African Queen was a lot bigger than our canoes, but you get the idea.  And, like Bogie, I got a leech on me, too.

Our canoes weighed less than 40 pounds.
Our canoes weighed less than 40 pounds.

We portaged right often, five times one day, but never more than three-fourths of a mile.  Carrying our canoes was no hill for a climber but carrying our canoes and packs at the same time was too much for us, especially the first few days, before we ate the steaks and potatoes, the chicken, the eggs and bacon. And the watermelon!

Watermelon?!

Yep.  And oranges and tangerines, too.  Those first few days, we were carrying a lot of  weight in our backpacks, close to 40 pounds each, if not more.  But we ate better than I’ve ever eaten on a trip into the wild.  GRRRR did almost all of the cooking and twice he fried Irish Griddle Bread.

OK, here are some questions you might want to ask.

Q. Were you ever afraid?

This doesn't do justice to how rough the water could be, but it's a start.
This doesn’t do justice to how rough the water was sometimes, but it’s a start.

I don’t like that word.  I prefer to say I was concerned several times when we were paddling across big lakes and the wind was blowing hard enough create white caps that rocked my canoe.  Rocking and rolling on open water didn’t brother GRRRR, or didn’t seem to, but it bothered me a lot. I finally told him I wouldn’t do it any more. If the wind was blowing hard I was going to stay closer to shore.

Q. How was the weather?

So-so, I guess.  We had two warm, sunny, blue sky days, three overcast mostly chilly days, and two rainy days. The eighth morning was promising but by then we were headed for the barn.

Thunder Box
Thunder box

Q. Where did you go to the bathroom?

Well, in the woods, once. But all the camp sites had what GRRRR called a “thunder box.”  They were located close to the camp sites so you couldn’t afford to be bashful.

Q. How did you find your way around?

GRRRR, AKA Karl Smith
GRRRR, AKA Karl Smith

GRRRR had a GPS but, truth be told, sometimes he was as lost as I was.  More than once I asked him, “Which way?” and he shrugged his shoulders in response.  In the end, however, he always got us where we needed to go.

Q. Any ugly surprises?

Yes. I’ve backpacked quite a bit, more than 3,000 miles, and I have top-of-the-line equipment.  But on this trip two key pieces of equipment failed me: my water filter, which both of us had planned to use, and my sleeping pad.  Fortunately, GRRRR had water purification chemicals with him.  My pad went flat early on the  third night, a 32-degree night. I put on all the clothes I had, five layers from the waist down and six layers from the waist up, and I was still chilly.  After that I slept on both of our backpacks, not comfortable but better than trying to sleep on cold-as-ice dirt.

Q. Accidents?

None, unless you want to count the time GRRRR turned his canoe over and fell out. Oh, I know. That was mean of me to mention that.

Q. Would you like to do it again?

That's me, at Algonquin
That’s me, at Algonquin

Yes, knowing what I know now, I’d have even more fun. But, no, I don’t have time. I’m 77.  There are other things I want to do, like hike some more on the A.T. with my grandsons Christian, Cole, Curtis, and Eli. Go back to the Grand Canyon —  any trail but the Nankoweap. And, maybe, hike at least part of North Carolina’s Mountains to the Sea Trail.

And I only have so much time left.

Coming Friday: The Answer To A Puzzling Question