California Driving
November 6, 1999.
 

I remember driver's ed, the whole defensive driving emphasis.  Let me say I am way beyond that.  If defensive driving is like locking your front door when you go to sleep at night, I am like one of those crazy New Yorkers with 14 locks and a bunch of those Home Shopping Channel door bars, except in a driving sort of way.

If I was an American diplomat, I'd be an isolationist diplomat, hunkered down in the middle of the Great Basin taking sweat baths like on page 2,340, book 12, of Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series (that's a little joke there--you Robert Jordan lovers know book 12 only has 1,942 pages.  Ha ha!  On the plus side, after only 12 books, they're almost across that damn desert!).  I'd probably be in the same place John Wesley Powell found the digger Indians (a tribe with no spoken language that survived by digging grubs out of the ground, and which was basically in the civilizationary toilet training stage with no hope of indoor plumbing any time soon, so to speak).

Often when driving, I find I would really prefer to be digging grubs.  I guess actually I would prefer that other drivers were digging grubs.  Ok, so it's a race to the bottom, but I'm way behind.  In the last two days, I have managed to avoid being run off Interstate 880, sideswiped, and hit side-on.

So let me just make a few observations.  First, let me ask the woman in the tan Buick who came to a full stop (not a 'rolling stop,' nor 'I tapped the brakes is that enough? stop') at a stop sign--what were you thinking?  Perhaps you took a wrong turn somewhere in the rural midwest but you are living in Cal-i-for-nia now.  Next time, speed as you are coming to the stop sign and then slam on the brakes at the last minute.  Keep an eye on your speedometer to ensure your speed never drops below 25 mph.  As you come even with the stop sign, gun the accelerator and peel rubber around the idiot who read the bs in the driver's guide about 'right of way.'  Remember--'bicyclist' and 'pedestrian' are just synonyms for 'road pizza.'

Full stops are confusing to those of us, such as the guy a distance from my rear bumper statistically insignificant from zero, who are going somewhere pretty dull but if they drive really fast it'll seem like it's interesting and important.

Also--turn signals.  Real Californians know they are there only to confuse and mislead other drivers.  When exiting the interstate across 2 or more lanes of traffic during rush hour, they are not required and the best idea is to simply act as if you are alone on the highway--after all, Caltrans put those cement barriers there to helpfully catch any vehicles whose drivers might not slam on the brakes quickly enough.  Also, when making a blind left turn across a busy street, the best bet is to gun it and pray.  Only sissies wait for breaks in traffic!

Finally, tailgating.  To be a good tailgater, you have to remember one thing:  If you wanted to be going 90 you would have stayed on the surface streets.  Move over, grandma!  Tailgating is an art.  Most accomplished California tailgaters observe the 2-foot rule.  If you want someone to speed up, to get them to pay attention, 2 feet.  Not 10 feet, not 2 seconds.  You're no wuss and they better know it!
 
So I drive in fear.  But to my fellow drivers, let me say thank you.  To the guy in the white van who almost ran me off the road into the jersey barriers--I have renewed confidence in my ability to brake, steer, and lean on the horn at the same time.  To the idiot who had to make a blind left turn out of the Shell station across 2 lanes of moving cars and into a constant stream of oncoming traffic--thank you.  Apparently, my car really does stop on a dime.  And the adrenaline rush is about as good as a triple mocha.  To you at the stop signs--stop.  It's what the sign says.

-Spackle

 
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Copyright 1999 Keith Lichten