Well my boss wanted me to run around town and pick up a few things for the office. A great chance to get out of the office and screw off on company time. Love my bike but some things you need four wheels for. So... I jump on my bike and hurry back home to switch out my bike for the truck. Maybe a little to eager to get back home I squealed the rear tire a little at a stop light that turned to GO!! The chirp was minimal and I mean barely audible. Moving up from my 883 sporty I have given the M109R beast a little more throttle than it required more than once with vastly greater result and reduce tire life. Not paying much attention to the small learning curve error that I have not yet fully overcome I continue on down the road for a little bit and notice a motorcycle policeman coming up from the rear. Slowing down and pulling over to the right lane I expect him to pass me by but he only rides along side me. It took me longer than it should to realize...he is pulling â€œmeâ€ over. Pulling into an auto zone parking lot, I felt it appropriate setting since I might not be riding my bike for the remainder of the journey. I park the bike, start to take off my gear, and produce all the standard paperwork in a practiced fashion. He smiles at my license and says with a heavy New York accent (which was odd since I live in Kentucky) "Good motorcycle endorsement", I produce my insurance card he says "Excellent! Insured motorcyclist and the last thing?" as I hand over my registration. It seemed to me he was a little more excited at my having all the required documentation that I was at having it, later I learned why. Of course the standard conversation ensued. Do you know why I pulled you over? he asked. â€œI believe I squealed my rear tire at the lightâ€, came the sheepish reply. â€œYesâ€, he responded, â€œyou lifted your front tire off the ground a bit tooâ€. He told me I did a great job at keeping it straight and handled it well â€¦.and continued talking but all I could think of in my head was â€œno way in hell I lifted the front end off the groundâ€. While my inner disbelief kept saying over and over â€œnow way I popped a wheelieâ€ was masked by a nod and apology to the officer. After the usual safety briefing I learned that soldiers were returning to Fort Campbell and buying crotch rockets but skipping the license, insurance, and registration. The Motorcycle Policeman told me he was going to write a warning ticket. After I signed the ticket he ripped it from his clip board and began to hand it to me. As I was taking the ticket from him he ask â€œAre you in a hurry to go anywhere?â€ â€œNot anymoreâ€, I replied. â€œGreat!â€ he said â€œI have a friend that would love to see your bikeâ€. So while we waited I began to do a dealer sales pitch on the bike and start over when the second Motorcycle Policeman arrived. The show and tell went on for about five minutes then they tell me to have a nice day and pull off. As they leave and I prepare to do the same my cell phone rings. It is my boss asking me where I am. I tell him I just got pulled over because the police wanted to look at my bike. â€œYea, everyone one loves your purple bike now get back to work so you can pay for itâ€ he replies. You know the boss is right, everyone does like to look at my purple bike.