A failure to help

I am a fast lane freeway driver.

Freeways are boring, especially when one is traversing the same one that one has traversed for decades.

So I do not dawdle.

There is a drawback to this, however. One, my view is invariably one of a long, grimy concrete jersey wall. The scenery two lanes over to my right is just a vague green blur.


Two, I like to help people. Just always have. Was raised that way. Going 70-ish on the freeway, by the time your eyes register someone on the side of the road hefting a spare tire and your brain beats down all the reasons that you shouldn't stop, you are a quarter mile ahead of said person and your chance to help is gone.

Today, I espied a young lady crouched in the most dangerous of places, on the freeway shoulder beside her driver's side tire, preparing to change a flat, or possibly already in the last stages of doing so.

Stop and help? A mere second or so of cudgeling my inner wimp into submission -- I'd be late for work, I might die, etc. -- and I was ready to be of assistance. But of course, I couldn't. I was too far left and too far ahead.

Nevertheless, I decided to turn around at the next exit and go back. I did, but She and the car were gone. She'd done the job just fine on Her own, which is entirely to be expected of a sensible Woman in the 21st Century.

I couldn't help but feel that my need for speed cost me this morning, the chance to dirty my hands but brighten a day.

Things that suck

"Watch your speed coming home," my Sweetie warned me today. "They're cracking down on speeding on I-95."

They're always cracking down on speeding on I-95, those blue-siren vampires. Always zinging someone who is keeping to himself, no danger to anyone, while the jackrabbits and lane-weavers keep right on their joyful journey of jerk-fullness.

Where were these fine officers this morning when a big truck loaded with scrap crap was hogging the left lane {ILLEGAL!!!), firing debris like bullets across all three lanes of traffic? (UNSECURED LOAD -- ILLEGAL!!!)

Sure enough, even though I stayed as far behind the scofflaw trucker as possible, a good-sized chunk bounced off the roof of my car and scratched right through the paint. I'm just lucky it didn't traject lower and shatter my windshield.

I was so sorely tempted to do what my little brother does when truckers -- and it's just a certain small number of them, I know -- piss him off. He swings in front of them at the first available opportunity and slows waaayy down for a minute or two, which really annoys them.

I really, really considered it. But it wouldn't have done any good. And I would probably have gotten a ticket for obstructing the moron's passage.

Soundtrack for the Road

It's Monday. Monday sucks. People who like Mondays have serious pyschological problems and should consult a qualified counselor.

But I did enjoy my drive in. Had some great music on the CD player.

Good road music can be gauged by its effect on your speed. And since I pushed 80 mph the whole way, seriously risking a speeding ticket, it should be obvious that my tunes rocked.

Usually Metallica does that for me. Lars and crew are the penultimate gods of metal. Do not listen to Ride The Lightning while passing through a speed trap.

But today I buzzed with another M: Mozart. As in, the Coronation Mass, at least the Gloria and Credo. I'll have to catch the rest of it on the way home.

The fever pitch, the excitement of the voices rising to a crescendo, reminded me of a long-ago music class revelation -- when my high school teacher showed us with a metronome how some classical pieces had a faster beat than what we kids thought were the rocking hot tunes of the day.

To my first college roommate -- a tragic genius who got tangled up in heroin and vanished, never to be found, a great loss to the world -- I owe my second musical revelation, that a person can -- and should -- live to enjoy both rock and great classical music.