Dante was wrong. Hell is a morass of lanes and ramps, of mesas, plains and canyons of concrete, where millions of of steel and fiberglass capsules hurtle at, around and sometimes into each other at speeds exceeding 70 miles per hour. These vehicles are aimed and guided by all kinds of drivers including the: halt, lame, mad, maniacal, idiotic, naive, frightened, stupid, homicidal, suicidal, timid, impatient, angry, oblivious, preoccupied, intoxicated, patient, considerate, kind, brutal, and distracted.
Driving along the John Lodge in Detroit, or some similar conduit of madness, I wonder about the driver who rips in front of me from three lanes over, sliding his Accura through the gaps between vehicles with less than 10 inches to spare—is she a Ph.D in astrophysics? Is he a graduate of Harvard law school? Is she a highly respected Oncologist or just a clerk at Home Depot? Then I imagine this person after the pile up, their life devastated or terminated by a momentary hesitation or miscalculation that turned their $45,000 plus social networking, communications and entertainment center on wheels into a blood spattered mass of jagged steel, shattered glass, and flame—a shredder that sliced and diced them like carrots without regard to their personal values, dreams, goals, purposes and importance and left them as matter to be shoveled and hosed off the pavement like smashed watermelons.
This we call progress and civilization. It is inevitable we say. The sacrifice of some for the many is an acceptable cost. So in the name of convenience, freedom, status and the American Way, we encourage our best, brightest and innocent to share the highways with dim wits, drunks and lunatics. And too often they are one and the same.
So the descansos lining our roads and highways are increasingly prominent and more numerous than the Golden Arches and the future for trauma centers, rehabilitation clinics and funeral homes seems brighter than ever.
I didn’t realize you’ve begun posting again – I’ve missed some. I’ll become more attentive!
I’ve often said the Houston freeway system is Dante’s 14th circle of Hell. Your delineation is perfect. There are times – like Saturday nights – I simply will not drive into Houston. I’ve missed an event or two because of it, but the number of drunks on the road (or people who appear to be drunk, because of the way they’re driving) calls for discretion.
I was rear-ended on a Houston freeway one night in 1981. I was going about 65 at the time. The police said the person who hit me had to be going well over 100. He kept on going and was never caught.
The car was totaled, but I was lucky. I heard my long-dead dad telling me “steer into the skid”, just like on ice. I did, and never spun out. After I came to rest at the median divider, a nice man stopped, call the ambulance and waited until they came.
Two weeks later, I bought another car and got back on the road. Sometimes, I don’t even think about it.
I’m happy to hear you weren’t injured in your accident.
Your comment about your dad having taught you to “steer into the skid,” suggests you grew up in a state with snow and ice.
I drive an old 4 cylinder, rear wheel drive pickup. It is amazing to me how many 4-wheel drive SUVs and new cars I see in the ditches or off-the-road in the winter, Too many younger drivers are over confident that the advanced technology in their vehicles relieves them of the responsiblility of actually driving with responsibility and skill.