Took my 1998 Honda Civic out for some exercise this weekend. Racked up 475 miles during a round trip to Rochester, just about all of them on Mr. Dewey’s fabulous New York State Thruway.
Now I’ve ranted about speed freaks before, and think they deserve another slap. I just can’t believe the chances some of these dolts take on the high-speed road.
This weekend, I saw three or four guys — impatient scum, all — darting in and out of traffic lanes. They start in the passing lane, and decide the speed freak ahead of them isn’t freak enough ... so they veer into the right-hand lane — my lane, for drivers who want to go closer to the speed limit. Then, they find another slot and go back into the passing lane ... like Gale Sayers trying to find holes in the defense on a third-and-20.
What in thee hell is the rush, I always say to myself. An accident waiting to happen, I further say to myself.
This weekend, I got the classic a few times. I pass a slow-moving truck — I’m at the speed limit, maybe a bit above, so I’m not Mr. Magoo out there — and immediately I’ve got a clod on my tail who think’s he’s Jim Kirk. He flashes his front lights at me, the universal signal among morons who don’t think their 80 mph is fast enough. They want to be at 90.
What an obnoxious melon-farmer!
As soon as I’m able, I pull back into my right-hand lane. I’d rather see all reckless drivers in front of me, rather than in back of me. But if I was Jim Kirk, I’d be training both phaser banks and all photon torpedos on the idiot, vaporizing him and his Chevy Monza.
When somebody whizzes by me at 90 ... and yeah, it looks like they’re going that fast ... I’m always waiting for some trooper to pop out of the bushes and give him a nice, yellow ticket for speeding. Whenever I see the troops, I half expect them to run me down for doing 69 in a 65-mph zone.
With all the traffic accidents we read about — especially during the summer — you’d think some people would just slow down. Driving at 65 or 67 mph gets me from Albany to Rochester in about 3 1/2 hours. I’m not trying to get there in 2 1/2 .. I’m not in that big a rush.
But some creeps are. And that means we’re all in danger, and better be on the alert, when we drive Mr. Dewey’s big road.
