DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour    

I seem to get behind a lot of vehicles that must be towing a loaded 53-foot trailer, because it sure takes them a long time to get up to speed. It must be punishment for childhood shenanigans. I am loath to know what I had done that earns me the personal distinction of trailing the only vehicles on the highway whose torque rating is in the low-single figures?

For instance, this morning I was turning at the freeway on-ramp to I-75 and wound up behind a late-model Mazda6, poking along at a neck-breaking speed of about 17 mph.  In my head I used more toilet words than I did when I read about The Love Boat being cancelled.

I resigned myself to having to wait this guy out until we got on the freeway itself, at which point I intended to zip over like an F-15 flying the “Missing Man Formation.”

However, what’s that about the best-laid plans? Both of the outer two lanes were lined up like free wash Thursday at a Roadway America Truck Stop. And to make the joy complete, Barney Oldfield in front of me got spooked by this elephant walk of 18-wheelers and stopped at the bottom of the ramp until traffic totally disappeared from the right lane. He pulled out and it took him two exits to come within 10 mph of the speed limit of 70 mph.

I can understand it taking a mile or more for an International Eagle diesel loaded with steel coils to get up to speed. But why does it take five minutes or more for a Chevrolet sedan to accomplish the same goal? I also sympathize with nervous drivers, especially the elderly, who are hesitant to work their way into traffic on an expressway. Do you know what I have to say about that, Pops?  “TAKE LOCAL ROADS! YOU CAN DRIVE AS SLOWLY AS YOU WANT!”

I realize that some day I’m going to be old, too. As a matter-of-fact there are some days that I feel older than the Mario Andretti I was following this morning. I like to think that when I get to that point I have enough compassion for my fellow drivers to find another route to take without inconveniencing them to the point where I can hear pistols being cocked six cars behind me. You would think I was in LA.

As with most things I gripe about I have a solution. A law should be passed that any vehicle entering a freeway has ¾ of a mile to get within 10 mph of the speed limit (traffic permitting) and if this doesn’t occur then his vehicle will automatically pull off to the shoulder and the errant driver will be forced to have a “time out.” (Hey…if my twin-grandboys are given time-outs when they do something wrong then everyone else should have to face the music as well.)

The length of the penalty will depend on how close to the 10 mph cushion that he or she reached. If it’s more than 20 mph less, the penalty should be expanded to make the time-out last until 2:01 a.m. when traffic is at its lightest. Harsh, yes, but I don’t know how long my lifespan is…and I don’t want to waste part of it waiting for Jeff Gordon up there to get with the program.

I think it’s probably time for me to watch Soylent Green again so I can mellow out. There’s something about that movie I find soothing.