One of my favourite things to do is go for long drives.
There is something about the open road and good music on the stereo that clears the mind and fuels my perspective.
But with COVID-19 lockdowns, it’s been more than a year since I did a proper road trip of any distance. Now that I have, I think perhaps I’ve lost my edge.
I felt like I agreed to play chicken with my life as soon as I merged onto the 401 to Toronto.
Is it me, or have people become more aggressive behind the wheel this summer? It’s like the rules of the road have been re-written by a nearsighted, lead-footed maniac with a death wish and no turn signals.
It’s every driver for themselves and nobody seems to care that lives are literally buckled into each vehicle, all of them with a family waiting for them to get home – if not their entire family inside the vehicle. If you’re rushing home to someone, assume other people are too. And they deserve to arrive, just like you do.
Maybe with all the fancy bells and whistles in new cars – like lane departure, blind-spot and forward-collision warnings, automatic emergency braking systems and cameras to monitor everything – they feel invincible. If only.
Maybe I was once part of the problem. I wasn’t an aggressive driver, but I certainly wasn’t a timid one. I was taught the rules of the road from a father who loves to drive, with an old-school respect for big trucks, what lane is for what speed, and how to keep space.
But it seems that as the province is opening again, the on-ramp is full of bad drivers attempting to merge across three lanes to the fast lane all at the same time. Funny how brave everyone is behind a windshield, of all things.
I found driving to Toronto so stressful that I turned off the radio to focus – something I never do. Road construction made the pace slow, but the chaos of vehicles and big trucks jockeying for position across three lanes was intense.
Nobody made space for cars literally running out of merging lanes. Signals? Why bother.
When a little car cut off a double fuel-tanker truck in the slow lane, forcing the driver to slam on his breaks, creating a waft of grey smoke with an acrid sulfur smell, it did nothing to rattle the drivers around me.
When the flashy SUV cut across three lanes of traffic to get to the fast lane, only to realize theirs was the next exit, they cut over three lanes again, without signaling.
I kept the speed of traffic and space around me, even when it angered the tractor trailer who tailgated me so close I wondered if he could read the kilometers on my oil change reminder window sticker.
I had nowhere to go. I wasn’t holding him up. We were deadlocked in traffic. Intimidation for the sake of what? We literally had nowhere to go. Jerk.
I cannot believe my husband, the Carpenter, does this two-hour drive to Toronto twice a day in all seasons, as do countless other commuters across Wellington County. It’s stressful. You all have my respect and empathy.
I’ll get my edge back, but I’ll still signal first.
Stay safe, everyone.
