Revolutionary Radar Detector

A while ago I bought a new used car and decided on a minivan on the
theory that with two teenaged sons the extra hauling space would certainly
come in handy, as well as offering a substantial buffer zone between
me and whatever hip-hop hi jinx transpired on long drives.

The theory was tested out early and often, as at the time I was the
coach/manager of my 15-year-olds "traveling team" in Massachusetts Bays
youth soccer.  I had quickly discovered that the "traveling" wasn’t
in name only; we traveled from the New Hampshire border to the tip of
Cape Cod, and west to the banks of the Hudson River. The minivan was
a godsend. The first weekend we had it I took the "Falcons" to Springfield,
and
other than a split tube of "Icy Hot" on the seat cover, the trip was
a cinch.

Shortly thereafter, driving on the Mass Pike, I heard the noise for
the first time.  It
was an insistent beeping, and my first thought was that it was a warning
signal for something in the car that was about to break down or explode.  I
quickly went through the usual suspects; gas, oil, temperature, brakes.  Everything
seemed to be working fine.  Then, looking out the driver’s side
window, I saw a state police car lurking behind a billboard, the steely
snout of his radar gun sticking out the window.

Eureka! The beeping must have been a radar detector! Over the next few
days I heard the beeping four or five times, and each time I spotted
a police cruiser shortly thereafter.  I searched the minivan from
stem to stern, looking for the damn radar detector.  Glove compartment,
trunk, under the seats, under the dash, behind the speakers.  Nothing.

Finally I concluded, like Sherlock Holmes, that when one has eliminated
the possible, what remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.  Somehow,
the radar detector WAS BUILT INTO THE ELECTRONICS OF THE CAR ITSELF.
I loved my minivan more than ever now, and felt that not only was it
carrying me where I needed to go, it was protecting me from the long
arm of the law on the way.

About three weeks later, I was again transporting the "Falcons", this
time down to Fall River, near the Rhode Island border.  We were
cruising down I-95 at about 70 when the beeping went off like mad.  I
started looking wildly in all directions for the cop. Suddenly I was
aware of a mad scrambling in the way-back seat, and then a 15-year-old
voice sang out, "My cell phone! I’ve been looking for it for three weeks!"