Monday, February 20, 2017

1760 Twelve Lanes Wide and Crawling

DEERFIELD BEACH FL --  It’s a 12 lane highway, six in each direction.  The speed limit is 55. Nobody is from   here.

In the far right lane is Mrs. O’Connor originally from Greenbelt, Maryland.  She’s cruising along at about 25.  Doesn’t want to miss her turnoff which is two miles away according to the sign she just passed.

Pacing her in the adjacent lane are Mr. and Mrs. J. Frangipani.  Julius and Julia, originally from Massapequa, NY. J & J, Juli and Juli, combined age of 166, cooking along at maybe 30 mph. The right blinker has been flashing for the last ten miles.  The Julis want to get ahead of Mrs. O’Connor in her lane, but anything close to 50 makes them nervous.

One lane to the left is Florence Northam, originally from Webster City, Iowa. Her two grandchildren, Norman and Joanie, age five and seven, are fighting at high decibel over a bag of potato chips, half of whose contents have landed on the seat and the floor.  Florence is spending more time in looking in the rear view mirror than she is at the cars ahead of her.

On her left are Jacob and Mia and their surfboards.  They are heading for the beach so they can tell their friends back in Honolulu how crummy the surfing is in Florida.  They’d gladly go the speed limit, and plenty faster. But they’re stuck behind someone in a newish Fiat that appears to stall over 40 or so. And they’re boxed in by Florence on the right and a refrigerator truck on the left.

We can’t make out who is behind the wheel, but the truck is a blue smoke belching 1985 Dodge with a sign that says “Bobby’s Fresh Fish, wholesale only.”

In the high speed lane is a 2017 chalk white Cadillac Escalade doing 35 with Uncle Moishe behind the wheel over which he can barely see.

The only way anyone can move to the right before Mrs. O’Connor gets to her exit is if she has a blowout and shifts to the shoulder before she stops.

In fact, no one is going to pass anyone, ever.

Everyone’s taking heat. Mostly Uncle Moish, who it turns out is sitting on a Webster’s Unabridged, 2nd Edition and still can barely see over the steering wheel.

Oh, and his blinker has been on for a few miles, too.  His left blinker.  Hey, Uncle, there is nothing left of you but the guardrail and the other side of the road.

When you plan to travel this road, remember Amtrak crosses up a ways.  Pays to call ahead and see how late the noon time Silver Meteor from Miami to New York is running.  Or whether it’s stalled across the highway.  Again.  Which can mean road traffic is backed up to Havana.

--Remembering James Buchanan on Presidents Day. In a recent survey, historians named him the worst American President in history.  Move over, Jimbo, next survey you’ll no longer be the bottom of the barrel.

-“I am the last president of the United States.” -- James Buchanan just before the outbreak of the Civil War.

I’m Wes Richards. My opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ®
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