Chronicles of the College Boy: Road Trips and Road Rage

            Hey all, before I begin let’s have a moment of silence for the A in my European History class that didn’t get to see the light of day. It could’ve been but I got a 70 on the second quiz. I knew the date Hitler became chancellor: Jan, 30, 1933, but I didn’t know that Willy Brandt was the first chancellor out of the SPD party. If I knew that I would’ve still had a chance. So here’s to you, A. You were a beautiful grade that was gone too soon.  

With the holidays ending most of us must prepare or already reacquainted ourselves with the terrible experience of road trips. You really get to know a lot about people from how they drive on the highway. From my experiences so far I’ve learned that road trips are a test. A test of patience, pride and narcissism. The next time you’re on the highway, ask yourself these three questions:

1.  Am I patient enough to endure this journey knowing that my speed has a greater impact on my gas tank than my expected arrival time?
2.  Am I that prideful that I won’t move out of someone’s way or allow them to get in front of me because I think my pace is good enough and they just have to deal with it?
3.  Am I that narcissistic to be zig zagging around everyone because my time and where I need to be are more important than anyone else on the road?

My school is a seven hour drive from home. There is no playlist or artist I can listen to that will keep me pumped for that long. No matter how fast I go, it’s at least a six hour journey. My first time driving home I got there in 6 and a half but I had to do many things I wasn’t proud of to achieve that feat. A few Bambis lost their mothers that day.

Last year I saw my friend tailgate the hell out of a dad in a green minivan for slowing us down on the fast lane. I thought my friend was being belligerent. Here am I today doing the same thing. I’ve become a jerk. I even have a celebration routine. After I make someone switch lanes I make my fingers into a gun and shoot them down. My motto is you can’t be going 75 on the fast lane and act like you’re going places. When you’re driving on the fast lane, you made a deal to go at least 20mph faster than the person behind you. Once you don’t hold your end of the bargain, it’s time to go.

The first time someone flashed their high beams on me I was confused. I thought somebody I knew was behind me, but my friend told me it was because I was going too slow. Mind you, I was doing 85 on the fast lane. A speed which can land me a $200 ticket. Instead of speeding up or moving out of her way, I turned up my music and slowed down so that I was adjacent to the person on the right lane. She was trapped. The more she flashed me the more I blasted my music. Once the song ended I floored it and she was left in the dust. She didn’t even accelerate, she just stood there. Score 1 for Deion.

I’ve seen and been a part of my fair share of races for pride. During my first time driving home I was up against this 50 year old white guy in a white Ford Fusion and this young Chico in an old, grey Civic. The white guy was behind me and I saw him shimmying to finesse his way in front. When he saw that he couldn’t he raised his hand to say “Ugh, this is ridiculous!” Once he was able to he was gone. He had to have been pushing 100 with no regard for his gas tank. I passed him a few times but he kept coming back. It was just me and Whitey for the first twenty minutes. Chico wasn’t really a threat until the end.

For a good five mile stretch I was ahead and I thought I left them in the dust. Out of nowhere I saw a white dot in my rearview and it was getting bigger and bigger. It was Whitey! Buddy had his dress shirt unbuttoned and he was drenched in sweat. He looked like he went through hell, like an old wrestler protecting his championship belt. I could’ve sworn I saw him raise his fist in triumph and flip me the bird when he passed me for the last time. After Whitey ran through the tape, Chico came in happily accepting second place.

The fact that I couldn’t hang with a 50 year old was a crippling blow to my ego. But it goes to show that when it comes to speed demons, there are the OGs and young guns. I’m a starter pistol.

The most humbling feeling comes after trying to pass the person in front of you only to see that the person in the next lane isn’t going any faster so you have to get back behind them. When that happens to me I imagine the person in front of me grinning at the rearview mirror saying “that’s right, fall back in line.” I know that’s what he thinks because that’s what I think. There have been times when I’ve sped up to prevent being passed. Like I said, it’s about pride.

Quick word of advice on traffic jams: grab a snack, text and work on your novel. Follow the semi-trucks. They always seem to be on the fastest moving lane. This is for two lane roads, results may vary for three of four lanes.

      I could go on and on about my misadventures and gripes with road trips, but I’ve already said a lot and you’ve probably had a long day. So I’ll leave you with this—the highway is filled with people who want to get to their destinations in a safe and timely manner. Some have different ways of doing so than others. It doesn’t matter if you’re a tortoise or a hare, road trips are a marathon, not a race.