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After more than 450 miles of zero turns or exit ramps on my way from Denver to Fort Riley, Kansas, geology ceased to exist. This dusty flatland had nothing but farms, gas stations and the occasional billboard telling me to accept Jesus or Rock Chalk, Jayhawk.
At least hell has things to look at.
There are plenty of great people in Kansas, and the state has a rightful claim to birthing basketball as we know it. That alone makes it worth respecting. But as a Coloradan who enjoys a few puffs every now and then, Kansas has always felt unwelcoming.
Just when the solo trip was about to end, I pulled out a hash pen. I was about to spend two nights with a childhood friend on an Army base before he deployed to the Korean demilitarized zone for a few years. A little THC was needed to soothe my nerves, aching back and stomach, which was in store for nothing but Wendy’s and Natural Light for the next 84 hours.
Then the lights came on behind me. Just four miles from my destination, Kansas Highway Patrol was about to pull me over.
This was 2017. Colorado was one of a small number of states to have legalized recreational marijuana, and the rest of the country wasn’t yet hip to hash pens. At worst, most people thought they were nicotine vapes. But I’d heard the stories of license-plate profiling in states surrounding Colorado in the wake of pot’s legalization, with Kansas the most notorious.
We’ve written about many sketchy law enforcement stops for marijuana in the past, but Kansas law enforcement’s hate for the plant extends to hemp, too. In 2018, that state’s liquor commission banned New Belgium Brewing from selling its Hemporer pale ale, a beer made with hemp seeds, within Kansas despite the beer containing no THC, CBD or any other cannabinoid. In 2019, two brothers were charged with four drug-trafficking felonies for transporting Colorado hemp across Kansas in 2017.
Cannabis isn’t just illegal in the state of Kansas. It’s despised.
I slid my hash pen into the side door pocket, and kept calm. I never actually took a hit; my mouth was hydrated and my eyes were clear. Surely I’d be on my way soon, right?
Wrong. Still in my twenties, I didn’t realize that rental cars are catnip for cops. The officer wanted to know why I was in one. How did my car break down in Denver? Where was I going? How long would I be there? Where was my friend being deployed to? What was his rank? I was trying to remember my friend’s zodiac sign in preparation for another round of probing when he told me to “stop talking and sit tight, Mr. Denver” and walked back to his car. I heard some indecipherable cop talk from the walkie-talkie on his vest, but the word “search” was definitely uttered.
Gulp.
After trying not to shit myself in a Hyundai Sonata for what felt like 45 minutes, the tall, doughy officer came back and said he had an “actual emergency to attend to,” and drove away after handing me an incomplete ticket, which I promised to pay and promptly threw away at the next gas station.
The “actual emergency” line always baffled me, though. This walking yam was going to try and search my car for going eight miles over the speed limit, and he’d just admitted that I posed no threat. Did I look like an asshole with a faded beard and backwards hat? Absolutely, but that’s not a searchable offense. Cops don’t care about that, though. When most of us are pulled over in Kansas, we’re in open water struggling to stay afloat.
A federal judge finally called out the Kansas State Highway Patrol for its roadside fuckery last month, when U.S. District Judge Kathryn Vratil castigated local law enforcement for a common tactic used to detain motorists with out-of-state plates long enough to find reasons to search their vehicles.
In the maneuver, labeled the “Kansas Two-Step,” officers would finish the initial traffic stop, issue a ticket or warning, and then walk away – and then stop, turn around and ask a question or talk more to the driver. By answering, the motorists technically gave the patrol troopers leeway for a consensual conversation, allowing them more time to find grounds for a vehicle search.
Instructions for the Kansas Two-Step are included in the Kansas State Highway Patrol’s training manual, according to lawsuits filed by the American Civil Liberties Union on behalf of three drivers and two passengers traveling from Colorado. The three separate occurrences named in the lawsuit took place in 2017, 2018 and 2019, but they were hardly the only instances. Vratil even scolded the patrol for “waging war” on out-of-state drivers heading through Kansas on Interstate 70, particularly those with license plates from states that had legalized marijuana.
“The war is basically a question of numbers: stop enough cars, and you’re bound to discover drugs. And what’s the harm if a few constitutional rights are trampled along the way?” the judge wrote in her decision.
The Kansas ACLU’s legal director called Vratil’s decision a “huge win,” and Vratil warned that she is prepared to impose changes in the patrol’s practice and enlist an auditor to follow the department for four years or more, if need be.
Does that mean I’ll feel safe driving through Kansas with Colorado plates on my car? Allow me to quote E-40: Nope.
Police officers don’t need to see something in a training manual to know where their bread is buttered. According to ACLU attorneys, drivers from other states accounted for 96 percent of all reported civil forfeitures by the state highway patrol in 2018 and 2019. In Colorado, the Morrison chief of police resigned under pressure after her officers weren’t bringing in enough traffic ticket revenue.
If a third step is required in Kansas for roadside searches, then it will be figured out soon, if it hasn’t been already. But in the meantime, driving through that state with a Colorado license plate is like waving a red flag.
