August 1983, my first solo trip from home (Tulsa, OK) to School (Tucson, AZ). I was 18 years old driving a '71 Chevy Impala with a hopped up 350 - dual 4 bbl, 327 heads, race cams. I was about 40 miles into Texas (somewhere around McLean) on a two-lane section of I-40 with my foot glued to the floor and the speedo pegged at 120+++. The sheriff was coming the other way...
I saw him flip his lights on and start slowing to make a U as he disappeared behind the rise I had just topped, so I pulled over (took a couple miles to slow that boat down) and waited. He blew by and then started backing up on the shoulder and I pulled up on the shoulder to meet him.
When he got to my window, I had my DL and reg out already but he didn't take them. With a calm and level voice and a deep Texas drawl, he simply asked "What's the hurry, son?"
I responded with the absolute, unrehearsed truth; "I'm just anxious to get as far away from Oklahoma as fast as I possibly can."
Of course, I was already preparing for how I was going to ask my Dad for bail money, but he just checked out my OK tags and inspection sticker, chuckled a little, and said "Well, I can certainly understand that! You keep 'er under a hundred the rest of the way through Texas and you'll be just fine!"
On a side note, I've never had the opportunity to live there yet, but I think Texas has some of the friendliest people I ever met. While I was in college, I made that drive several times and never met anyone who was untoward in any way. In fact, there were four times that I was broke down and flat broke in TX as a college student and the people down there were always eager to help! Good on y'all, Texas!