Slow Down
Most automobile drivers drive too fast.
I realize that saying this marks me as a grouchy old curmudgeon, the sort of wild-eyed, splittle-spraying nutjob who’s always yelling at you to turn down that goddamn music and get the hell offa my property.
So be it.
I still remain amazed by the speed at which the vast majority of people behind the wheel shoot through intersections, roar down straightaways, and fly around corners all the time.
Today, for instance, I almost got creamed as I rode up Jackson Street—solo on the tandem after dropping Mimi off—by a guy trying to achieve escape velocity in the fifty feet between the Walgreen and Red Apple parking lots.
Later, I had to slam on my brakes to avoid rear-ending some lady who burned rubber around me only to pull up short a few car-lengths later at a stop sign.
And after that, I had to hightail it through a crosswalk when I misjudged the rate at which this minivan was bearing down upon me as it race to soccer practice or music lessons, I suppose.
I understand, though. Whenever I’m in a car, I can’t wait to get where I’m going either and get the hell out of the cage, but still…
You’d think with all the amenities built into automobiles these days—iPod connections, drink warmers, beer coolers—that people would be happy to simply amble down the road, in no rush to leave their protective cocoon on four wheels.
I’m not saying every single driver is like this; why just today, I had a nice lady slow down and stop at an intersection so I could pass by in front of her. She even raised her gloved hand and blinked the lights on her Studebaker to show that she cared.
I loved seeing a driver traveling at a calm and deliberate pace; unfortunately, that line of six cars behind her honking madly didn’t see it that way.
I realize that saying this marks me as a grouchy old curmudgeon, the sort of wild-eyed, splittle-spraying nutjob who’s always yelling at you to turn down that goddamn music and get the hell offa my property.
So be it.
I still remain amazed by the speed at which the vast majority of people behind the wheel shoot through intersections, roar down straightaways, and fly around corners all the time.
Today, for instance, I almost got creamed as I rode up Jackson Street—solo on the tandem after dropping Mimi off—by a guy trying to achieve escape velocity in the fifty feet between the Walgreen and Red Apple parking lots.
Later, I had to slam on my brakes to avoid rear-ending some lady who burned rubber around me only to pull up short a few car-lengths later at a stop sign.
And after that, I had to hightail it through a crosswalk when I misjudged the rate at which this minivan was bearing down upon me as it race to soccer practice or music lessons, I suppose.
I understand, though. Whenever I’m in a car, I can’t wait to get where I’m going either and get the hell out of the cage, but still…
You’d think with all the amenities built into automobiles these days—iPod connections, drink warmers, beer coolers—that people would be happy to simply amble down the road, in no rush to leave their protective cocoon on four wheels.
I’m not saying every single driver is like this; why just today, I had a nice lady slow down and stop at an intersection so I could pass by in front of her. She even raised her gloved hand and blinked the lights on her Studebaker to show that she cared.
I loved seeing a driver traveling at a calm and deliberate pace; unfortunately, that line of six cars behind her honking madly didn’t see it that way.
posted by Professor Dave at 4:33 PM
1 Comments:
My theory is that, the faster the vehicle is capable of going, the more impatient is the driver. Drivers of road machinery like backhoes are very patient, drivers of big trucks are pretty good too. But the sportier the car, the faster the driver wants to push it. It even works with bikes - the guy on the racing bike is impatient compared with the guy on the clunker with the basket. I am at my most patient while walking.
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