Trying To Catch Me Riding Dirty

We were now rolling four deep on the Bali blacktop; Belgium, Holland, The UK and The States all represented.  We came to an intersection, engaged in some debate on the subject of which way to turn, and looked up to find a police officer standing at the opposite side of the traffic signal and waiving us forward.  He motioned us through the light and had us pull over.  He asked Belgium where we were going, leading us to believe that he wanted to help us.  Then he asked for our driver’s licenses.  Belgium and Holland produced their home licenses, UK and I told him ours were back at the hotel.  He also asked to see Belgium’s registration on the bike, and then held on to the registration while telling us we were all in trouble for not carrying an International License and also for driving through the traffic signal.   At his request we followed him across the street to a small office where another officer was waiting.  He opened a book with a list of fines.  Belgium and I looked on as he flipped through it, saw numbers from 150 USD and up, and became gradually certain that this was a hustle, just as he was getting around to telling us that our oversights were, in fact, criminal offenses.  Belgium was the first to act, reaching for his registration and pulling it gently from the officer’s hand. “Let’s just go.  Get on the bikes and ride.”   I couldn’t have agreed more.  We moved as a group, making it a difficult task to stand in our way.  With the officer barking behind us, we waived farewell and crossed the street with our hearts pounding.  Belgium and I fired up the bikes and took off, but Holland couldn’t get her bike started.  UK sat with his motor running behind her, looking anxiously across the street at the police, “You gotta be shitting me.”   Finally the bike started and they quickly joined Belgium and I a few blocks up the street.  To our relief no one followed us.