Riding with Officer Fred Didway July 28 made me feel like a kid again.

My first recollection of meeting a police officer was in preschool. We had a show and tell for dads and one of my classmates’ father was a police officer.

Naturally, we all wanted to see his gun and his car. The gun was polite but firm “no.” The car, on the other hand, we got to inspect.

That was 1992. Things have certainly changed since then.

The first thing I noticed when I got into Didway’s vehicle was the overwhelming amount of electronic equipment. A computer hung on a swiveling arm in the center between our seats. His radio was situated there, as well. Around his waist was a 15 pound utility belt that looked like it was inspired by Batman’s outfit. Attached to it was his service pistol, Taser, handcuffs, pepper spray, extra clips and other miscellaneous items.

It’s amazing officers are ever able to catch criminals on foot.

As we were driving down state Route 169, he warned me to watch my head. I looked up above and saw a shotgun strapped to the low ceiling.

The first 20 minutes of the ride was peaceful. I took the opportunity to ask somewhat quirky questions. For example, when Didway filled up his vehicle’s gas tank, who and how does he pay for it?

He explained every vehicle has a US Bank Fleet Card that uses money from the county budget. Typically, his vehicle consumes half a tank a day.

While Didway and I were checking out various areas in town where speeding is common, we received word on the police radio that an accident had occurred on state Route 169. I felt a chill of excitement go up my back as the description “burning truck” was stated.

Instantly, we pulled back onto the road. Didway switched his lights and sirens on as I grasped one of the handles hanging from the roof of the car. It was strange to be inside of a police vehicle racing to get to a scene, rather than being a civilian who yanks their car off to the side of the road, silently praying they’re not getting pulled over.

I can see why officers are amped when they finally arrive. There is something about driving with blue and red lights flashing and loud sirens blaring that gets your adrenaline pumping.

In less than five minutes we were at the scene. I looked out of my side window and peered at a collection of fire engines which surrounded the burning dump truck. It’s one of those images you see in movies and on the news. But when you are there, there is an authenticity that cannot be duplicated.

Didway got out of the vehicle, but, I was a little hesitant. I felt like the last thing the police and firefighters wanted was some upstart reporter running around taking pictures and getting in the way.

Instead, Didway invited me to come out and check out the scene up close and personal. Eagerly, I jumped out of the vehicle and followed him. It was like standing in the middle of a film set during production. As the firefighters battled to put out the flames, Maple Valley police were scrambling to get the traffic on the one-way road flowing again, which had come to a standstill.

I was still tentative until Didway informed me I could get close to the burning truck as long as I didn’t disturb anyone. Now alone, I continually snapped away with my camera. The result was several of my favorite photos.

Then, I realized it was a breaking story, one that would affect anyone who needed to use state Route 169 through Maple Valley. At that point, the only way they would find out would be if they got caught in the traffic jam.

Somehow, I had to get it up on our website for people to know.

I dialed my office, but learned Kris Hill, the other reporter for our newspaper, wasn’t in at the moment. Frantically I called my editor, Dennis Box, who was working in Kent. Barely able to hear him above the spraying hoses and loud engines, I relayed all the information I had gathered from the police and firefighters. As soon as I was done talking, he had the story up and on our website for people to read.

Though the story wasn’t especially fascinating, it was one of those experiences that reminded me of why I love journalism. Rather than hear about news after it has taken place, reporters have the privilege of writing about it.

Most people may not know this, but historically, many reporters never wrote a single story themselves. They merely gathered the facts and relayed them to the newsroom, usually by telephone, for writers to type up.

It was a moment where I felt like we had fulfilled a responsibility to the community. Within 10 minutes of the accident, we had the story up and available for people to read. That’s what I got into journalism for when I was in high school.

Another reason why the ride made me feel like a kid again.