I was lost on my way to Maine from Massachusetts, where we
had lived for a short while. I don’t really know how it happened, but this
being before the days of the GPS, I got
on the wrong route and ended up going through downtown Boston. If this has ever
happened to you, you know it’s not a very comfortable feeling. Unlike this very
sensible Midwest, there are no straight paths or clear signs in Boston; no
numbered streets or square grids. Not only was the traffic zipping along at
what I felt was a dangerous pace, but I was being bullied, threatened and
frightened by those with whom I shared the road. It’s been said that
Massachusetts drivers are the most aggressive drivers in the country and I’m
the one that said it! I was blessed to get behind someone just as timid as me,
who gradually drove right out of the city and north to sanity.
In Rhode Island I remember being the lead car in a line of
about six drivers who were in a very pressing hurry to get…somewhere, but it
was a densely populated city street so I was going the speed limit. With all
the tailgating going on, I felt like a junior high student experiencing some
weird form of peer pressure and was relieved when I finally came to a stop
light. My relief turned to astonishment when the woman directly behind me
squeezed around on my right and levered herself in front of me so she could get
ahead. I resisted a sudden impulse to react
like a junior high student.
While driving some friends through the heart of New York
City, my husband had the audacity to change lanes and get in front of a garbage
truck at a light. The driver of the truck rolled down his window and threw a
water bottle at the windshield of our car. Our friends from New Zealand laughed
out loud at the brazen show of New York ire.
New Hampshire, our stomping grounds for about eight years, is
a close rival in the Scariest Place to Drive contest. This is where our
youngest learned to drive, and that was when my hair started going gray. My
husband almost lost his life on a motorcycle on the turnpike there and gave up
his bike because of it. So, much of my adult driving life has been one of bewilderment
and disbelief at the way some people operate on the road. And I haven’t even
mentioned business man who couldn’t be bothered to stop at a stop sign,
consequently knocking over our son as he rode his bike home from school.
My driver’s
education teacher back in Central Aroostook High School taught us to drive
defensively, but cautioned against using the vehicle as a weapon. Too many
people, it seems, missed that class.
Imagine my relief when I found, the further west I got, the
better the driving conditions. It took a little while to realize, but like the
sweet oil dripping down Aaron’s beard, so is the attitude of the driving
population here. Even the young men in
their big trucks don’t scare me. So, thank you, dear Oklahoma, for being such
sweet drivers. Thank you for actually stopping at the four way stops, and for not
laying on the horn if someone is a little slow out of the gate. Thank you for signaling
when you turn or change lanes. Thank you for staying off my tail, and for
waiting until it’s safe to pass. You have my gratitude for driving carefully
when it’s icy, and for slowing down for construction and for acting like
thoughtful, sane adults. I’m sure you
don’t even realize, unless you’ve been to Boston, how well-behaved you are. But
take it from a grateful New Englander, and don’t go trying to prove me wrong.
