GoodFatherBlog.com

By nature, I am not a road rager.  I’m too old, for one thing.  Road rage is usually a younger man’s sport.  I’m also a professional driver.  More accurately, a driving professional.  Let me explain.

I drive up and down I-5 several times a week between where I live and Seattle.  For non-West Coasters, I-5 is the interstate that runs all the way from Canada to Mexico.  It replaced the Pacific Highway (Highway 99) as the primary means of travel for most traffic.  As far as I know, it’s a ‘freeway’ the whole way - no tolls from one end to the other (excepting H.O.V. lanes in some areas).  The twenty-five miles that I travel each day have a sixty-mile-an-hour speed limit.  New laws have been recently added here in Washington: no texting, or holding a cell to your ear while  you’re driving.

I call myself a driving professional because I don’t use the freeway for recreation, I use it to get to and from my job.  I’m careful.  I watch out for other drivers.  I (usually) observe the speed limit.  If you ever spot me on a D.O.T. camera feed, I’m the really bored-looking guy who is just trying to get to Seattle (or home again).   Most of the other people on the road with me are exactly the same.  They are driving to or from their jobs, so they’re careful.  They (usually) obey the speed limit.  No one wants to get into an accident.

We driving professionals have a driving code.  It’s unspoken, and until now, unwritten.  I’m going to document it here, and I’m going to add one unique addition right at the top.  This driving technique is fun, and if everyone did it, would eliminate traffic jams almost entirely.  Ready?

Don’t look at accidents

On my drive home this evening, traffic stopped on the freeway.  I knew it was a pretty nasty accident - there were lots of aid cars, state patrol cruisers, and helicopters overhead (never a good sign).  I fought my urge to stop my car, get out, get my lawn chair out of my trunk (for just such emergencies), and hunker down for a nice long look.  Instead, I focused all my attention on the car in front of mine.  My peripheral view caught an overturned vehicle - and then the car ahead started to accelerate.  So did I.  After about five hundred (!) yards, I glanced in my rear-view.  You guessed it, the car behind me was five hundred yards back.  The fun part?  Tell your passengers what you’re doing, and come off as a genius of human behavior prediction.

It’s like a zipper

There’s a place along my route near the airport where two lanes of traffic merge into the highway, one on top of the other.  It’s a dangerous merge, but I manage it by keeping one simple (unspoken) code in mind: merging traffic is like a zipper that perfectly lines up if you leave space for one car in front of you to merge.  Just one.  Once my designated car has cut in front of me (usually sans thank-you wave, but that’s OK), I close the gap.  The next car goes behind me.

It is the Autobahn

In Germany, if you drive in the left-hand lane, you are allowed to go flat-out.  You can literally drive as fast as you can (safely).  It’s amazing.  Cars can come out of nowhere, flashing their lights, and you better get out of the way, schnell!  American freeways are the same way.  When traffic is moving, I stay out of the ‘fast’ lane.  Tailgating, flashing you lights, and even a light bumper tap are all fair game if I’m bogarting the lightning lane.

Defer to the Soccer Mom

Every so often, a misguided soccer mom will wander onto the freeway with her poor van loaded to the gills with the team.  Maybe it’s an away game.  Like most other driving professionals, I will defer to her attempts to get into the H.0.V. lane by yielding, even if it means letting her merge into my lane when it’s not her ‘turn’.  It’s only humane.  How many more times can she listen to ‘Finding Nemo’ without finally losing it and turning the freeway into her own daycare demolition derby?

Mitigating road rage

I don’t have any compassion for road ragers.  Sorry.  I know how you feel, I was twenty once.  And my girlfriend broke up with me.  And I lost my job at Denny’s.  But as you may recall, I’m just trying to get to or from my job.  If you cut me off, I will give you more room.  If you flip me off, I will ignore you.  If you tailgate me and flash your lights while I’m driving in the center lane, I will ever so slightly start to slow down, until I am at a dead stop on the freeway.  At which time, me and Mr. Baseball Bat will get out and every-so-politely ask you why you’re driving your mother’s car.