We have traveled quit a bit since we moved to New York. Our family lives closer, but it still takes sometimes hours to visit them. We went to Boston for a conference and Pennsylvania for a doctor visit recently.
This is what I noticed.
Motorcycle drivers think the dotted line in the road is their own private lane. It makes me nuts when they speed by between two cars. The fact that this is very dangerous doesn’t seem to faze them.
When we drove through the town of Bloomsburg, PA on Route 11 there are warning signs. As Tom and I were driving he read one: “Caution, watch for aggressive drivers.” I thought he was kidding when he no sooner spoke those words a lady was tailgating us. This was a two way road with no place to pass. Tom was doing the speed limit but she didn’t seem to care nor had the ability to read the following signs: “Do not tailgate.” “Follow at least two dots beyond.” The dots on the road are markers for drivers. She was half a dot behind us and stayed that way until we turned off the road.
I understand why they had so many signs on that road. They should also post police cars to catch the violators. No one seemed to be paying attention to the millions of signs on the road.
Maybe I’ve become soft. I’ve not lived here in 16 years but I’ve managed to drive across the country not once but twice, yet I will not drive outside of Long Island. Why? The people on the road are nuts. They speed. They weave like it was the Indy 500. They ride your bumper.
Here’s the crazy thing. Sixteen years ago, I didn’t notice the difference. I was right at home and could weave with the best of them. Things change. I’ve come to realize that I will get there when I get there. I leave early enough to allow for traffic even though that’s hard to judge. I guess don’t feel the urgent need for speed. I’ve realized that I’ll get there whether the traffic tries to slow me down or other drivers cut me off.
God gets me to where I’m going. I prefer to move at His pace. Granted, His pace sometimes feels like its supersonic and other times feels like I’m crawling. When I’m on His road I’ll get there. I’ll the driving to Him.
© Nadine Zawacki 2009