In 2005 when we were building out here, I was on my way back to Phoenix in my 1975 Ford F-150, aka "the tank". As I was cruising along 347 near Peters and Noll Road, I saw a little Toyota just barreling along. I knew he wasn't going to make the stop sign, so I moved into the left lane. He clipped me at the rear right wheel.
We stopped and when he got out of the car, he and his buddy were more interested in trying to get the front bumper reattached to his vehicle than in talking to me. When I went up to them, both were elderly Native American gentlemen who reeked of booze. When I got the license from the driver, he was 92 years old.
Being a nice guy and realizing I wasn't too worried about the minor damage to my 30 year old pickup truck, I we exchanged information and I told him there wasn't any need to call the police unless he wanted them there. Keep in mine, we're on the res. He was thrilled to hear that.
A few hours later his son calls me and tried to extort money out of me. I called DPS and filed criminal charges. Plus, they investigated the accident and charged the driver with filing a false police report. In the mean time, my truck went into the shot for six weeks because all of the trim, moulding, etc., that needed to be replaced had to be original factory, not aftermarket, according to my insurance policy. Of course his insurance ended up paying.
When he got into Judge Sulley's courtroom, his whole family was there holding him up. He still reeked of booze but this time he wasn't driving.
I thought that if I ended up with Indian cops on the res with an Indian driver, my chances wouldn't be too good of not being messed with even though the thing wasn't my fault. As it turns out, I got messed with anyway and ended up with brand new chrome, wheels, and a paint job on an old farm truck. Oh well.
