There’s nothing like a ride in the country some days. I’ve recently had a few.
Rural traffic has its precious moments like two weeks ago when a wrecker was finally called to move the old 1950’s vintage school bus from the edge of the farm field to a real junk yard. Fortunately I gave this “mobile monument to Jed Clampett” a wide berth. After a half mile or so large pieces of undercarriage broke off and struts were on the roadside. The tires from the towing rig deflated and the whole kit and caboodle ended up on the side of the road until a flat bed truck could be brought in to pick up what had not atomized on the pavement right before my eyes. Manure wagons might be aromatic and slow but they don’t usually pelt you with old pieces of rubber, steel and the garden variety farm detritus that can’t be plowed under.
The drive to work the other day was like many others. It is almost 25 miles from where I live to where I work and a good part of it over back roads. There’s not usually a lot of traffic most days if you stick to the back roads. Sometimes the other drivers are content to accept their place and speed. This morning was an exception. One of those dreaded suburban utility vehicles was on my bumper. We were traveling at about 50 to 55 miles per hour or 10 miles over the posted limit but this wasn’t fast enough for this guy. I could see his windshield but not his headlights in the rearview mirror so he was definitely tailgating me.
Almost 30 years ago Mr. Hazelwood my driver’s education teacher coached me on how to handle these situations. You’re supposed to slow down and encourage the idiots to pass. Evidently the double yellow lines and oncoming traffic weren’t favoring my new “tail” so he followed me for about 4 miles before I grew tired of him. I don’t think Mr. Hazelwood would have been proud of me this day though.
As the years have rolled by my driving habits have mellowed out. I’ve even been accused by some persons close to me of driving a bit like an “old man”. I decided to consider that to be a compliment of sorts. On the other hand “Mr. Tailgater” was starting to wear on my nerves even more after mile five so I hit the “squirts” to “clean our windshields”. This first warning went unnoticed as did the slight swerve towards the centerline as a friendly token of encouragement. The second “wash” had about the same effect. There was definitely windshield cleaning fluid all over the front of this SUV behind me now. But this guy obviously wasn’t “getting it”. Either the cell phone conversation he was engaged in wasn’t going his way or he’d skipped his morning caffeine so it was now time for some clarity. After all, I wasn’t going to be the person to make this driver late to his destination. My right foot left the accelerator and firm pressure was applied to the brake.
I don’t think Mr. Tailgater’s early morning beverage survived the quick dive (and swerve) when he was forced to imitate my braking maneuver. I chose to remain at exactly the posted limit and his response was pretty much what one would expect. There was some “animation” going on back there although I can’t say exactly what because my focus was still much more than fifty percent on the road ahead of me (where it should be).
Mr. Tailgater finally hit the gas and found another driver about a half mile ahead to “push” the rest of the way into the business park. It’s quite possible he didn’t want to see the tailgate of my truck any more too. He’s probably a slow learner but then that’s his problem… not mine. For as long as he drives like a Yankee, I suspect that many of his future driving lessons will equally painful for him. There are lots of other persons out there ready to teach him his lessons too.
