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The Frontiersman and I took one of our adorable little min pins to a veterinarian in a nearby town last week because she was very sick.
Getting there was a breeze; no traffic, only one road work area and we sailed right along. Coming back home was another matter entirely.
For some reason, from the time we got to the vet clinic until the time we left there, someone, somewhere opened the flood gates and let all the slow and otherwise incompetent drivers onto the roads.
I admit it; I'm a highway driver at heart. Put me on the interstate and let me sail along in the far left lane and I'm a happy camper. Yes, the traffic can be crazy, especially if you're in rush hour traffic, going in the same direction as all the other drivers, but its organized chaos unlessall it takes is one tourist. YIKES! HELP! GET ME OUT OF THERE!
On the highway, accidents are genuine accidents. On byways and country roads, people just naturally drive erratically because it doesn't occur to those drivers that anyone else might be driving on that same road and there's always one more imbecile than you counted on.
Anyway, you get the point. I'm not really the patient driver type. Having lived a good part of my adult life in the south, I am fully aware that when you get behind a gray-haired senior driver, you're supposed to have patience, say, "Bless his/her heart", and say a prayer that they'll get home safely. No. Uh uh. Not me. When I'm on the road, it's because I have someplace to go. If I had nothing to do, I'd be home with my feet up. I usually yell, "If you can't drive it, park it!" The other driver doesn't hear me, but The Frontiersman does.
So I'm driving along, just leaving Frog Level. The speed limit changes from 30 mph to 55 mph, but the guy ahead of me obviously didn't see the speed change sign and (I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt), has never driven in that area before. He continues on at 30 mph.
"Oh, c'mon", I say, "I know you've got more strength in your foot than that".
"Calm down", The Frontiersman counsels; "He'll pick up speed in a minute".
"Uh huh", I reply while giving him the look'.
Three miles down the road there finally was a broken line and I was able to pass the old guy.
"Hey! What are you doing", The Frontiersman screamed.
"Passing", I replied, baffled by the question.
One thing you should know is that The Frontiersman doesn't have a problem with slow drivers because he is one. Every time I ride with him, I have to ask, at least once, "Can we at least get out of first gear?" The Computer Genius' method is to glance back and forth from the speedometer, to The Frontiersman's foot on the gas pedal, to his face a few times and then ask, "Dad, are you awake?"
I managed to travel a few miles down the road and then another old guy in an old car made a right turn off a side road right in front of me. I had to hit the brakes to avoid a collision, but the old guy never even noticed. He just continued on his way, at about 45 mph, totally oblivious to the near collision he had just caused. There I was yelling to the top of my lungs, with Dan holding onto the hand grasp with one hand and the dashboard with the other.
We cruised along behind that guy for the next several miles. I couldn't pass because the road is one curve after the other and painted with a double solid line.
As we approached the next small town, the speed limit drops to 30 mph, but does Mr. NASCAR slow down? Hell, no. He just continues on at 45 mph. Now, I'm ready to kill.
So there we are, breezin' along at 30 mph and I can no longer see Mr. NASCAR so my blood pressure begins to return to normal because I'm thinking he turned off somewhere.
As I round the curve into the business district' of Hooterville, Mr. NASCAR pulled out from a deli on the right and again did not notice that our cars were nearly conjoined. About mile down the road, Mr. NASCAR slowed down then, without signaling, started to pull to the right shoulder, swerved back onto the road and then pulled over to the right shoulder and stopped. What the heck was that all about?
As my blood pressure soared through the roof of my car, I pulled to the left and speeded up to get around him as I was screaming, "Tu es completelent debile" (you are a complete moron).
I glanced over at The Frontiersman and he was again holding onto the hand grasp and the dashboard and now he's tethered his shirt tail to the door handle. Good grief. You'd think I was the crazy driver! We're finally cruisin' again.
Just as I relaxed and settled back into my nice, comfortable seat, I saw a tractor pulling a skyscraper ahead of me. The tractor was moving at about 15 mph and was taking 1 traffic lanes. Wait a minute. That's hay! I've never seen a wagon loaded that heavily with hay before. Of course there was a caravan of traffic coming towards me so I was stuck again.
Once the caravan passed and we got by the long, long double solid line on the road, I finally managed to pass the hay mountain.
As I was passing, I looked in my rear view mirror just in time to see the tractor turn onto a farm road. Thank you SO MUCH!
After that, it was clear sailing the rest of the way home. Gia, our little min pin, thought the trip home was great; she had her head out the window, the wind was blowing her ears back. She didn't see a problem with my driving.
After that, it was clear sailing the rest of the way home. After we pulled into the driveway at home, and the car was at a complete stop, The Frontiersman was finally comfortable enough to untie his shirt tail from the door handle. I don't know why he gets so nervous.
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