Call Me a “Keith”: Why I Called 911 on Highway 17

I was on my way to Costco to pick up the essentials: medication, toilet paper, and Tide Pods. This was after watching Ice Cream Man—video review coming soon.

I was heading north on Highway 17 in Mount Pleasant when I noticed a motorcyclist splitting lanes. I believed lane splitting was only legal in California, but I thought nothing more of it at first.

Then things started getting dangerous.

The rider was weaving in and out of traffic without holding on to the handlebars. He appeared to be playing around with the drivers of a black Toyota Tundra and then a silver Nissan Frontier. Traffic was being disrupted, and the situation looked like it could easily cause an accident.

I’d had enough, so I called 911.

I gave the dispatcher my name, location, and a description of what I could see: a white male riding a black motorcycle, wearing a black helmet and a black backpack. I also described the other vehicles involved. I couldn’t see the motorcycle’s license plate, so I said so.

When asked, I provided my full name and phone number. As everyone continued moving, I kept the dispatcher updated on our location.

The dispatcher asked about the motorcycle’s make. I wasn’t going to speed or put anyone else at risk just to get a closer look. Eventually, traffic slowed—and so did the rider—allowing me to see that the motorcycle was a Kawasaki.

The group eventually pulled into Oakland Market, near Walmart.

To be clear, I didn’t call because somebody annoyed me or because I wanted to police every questionable decision on the road. If the rider hadn’t been creating a possible accident and jamming up traffic, I wouldn’t have called.

Maybe nothing would have happened. Maybe everyone would have made it home safely without my involvement. But when someone’s behavior puts an entire road full of people at risk, I would rather make the call than later wish I had.

So go ahead. Call me a “Keith.”