Normally I'm a fairly patient person. Normally I'm pretty Hum-De-Dum when it comes to driving. Normally I don't care what the person in front of me is doing or how slow they are doing it. I must be having an off week.
All week long Shirley and I (Shirley is my car and that is her name because as written in our family by-laws: "He or she who paid for the vehicle may name it whatever he or she pleases") have been getting sandwiched in a parade of slow drivers. The first time it happened I laughed it off. The second time I was mildly irritated. Things somehow snow-balled after that. And today was the Grand Finale.
After dropping off the recycling (which I had forgot to do for like, the past 7 months resulting in a packed full car that looked like something off of "Hoarders-Buried Alive") I had to drop off stuff elsewhere, then head across the mountain to pick up our taxes.
It was on the windy road leading up to the mountain that they got me. Yep. I was cruising along and lo and behold, what do I find in front of me? A dark blue Altima. A very nice car, mint condition, and going 35 mph. And what do I spy in the driver's seat? The profile of an older gentleman and beside him a Blue Haired.
Oh goody, I thought.
As we poked on up the windy mountain we (me, Shirley and Mr. Altima) found ourselves behind yet a SLOWER vehicle. We did 20mph the whole way up the mountain. Shirley was indifferent, but I was getting annoyed and thought that maybe some U2 would cheer me up. Since we were practically at a stop anyhow I figured it was as safe a time as any to dig out my cd & pop it in the stereo. Sing to me Bono, and I will let your Irish voice lift me high above this ridiculousness that is driving in front of me!
Normally this is the part where I veg out, relax and warble along at the top of my lungs, not caring what the idiots in front of me are doing. But as I said, for some reason, this was not a normal day. I was still white-knuckling Shirley's wheel even though the Edge was playing "It's a Beautiful Day."
Three hours later, at the top of the mountain, the pokey-poke holding up me & Mr. Altima pulled over. Maybe he was lost. I didn't stop to find out, Mr. Altima and I were picking up speed finally and my faith in mankind was somewhat restored. For about 15 seconds.
That's when me & Mr. Altima crested the mountain and he put on his brakes immediately so we could go very slowly down the other side. It's a straight shot, you really can't goof it up. There are no twisty turns on the other side of the mountain. Go Baby Go!
Well, I thought, maybe he'll turn left at the bottom where it Y's off. No. Indeed he did not. He turned right. Which is the direction I wanted to go. It is 6 miles till the next stop sign. I was just grateful he didn't leave his turn signal on to blink at me obnoxiously for the next 10 minutes.
Upper Snake Spring resumes in twisty-turni-ness and the speed limit is 45mph. We may have been doing 40 and this was unacceptable for me. (Once again, I don't know why I was having this desperation to get GOING, I'm really not a speedy driver to begin with.) Bono was crooning to me that he still hadn't found what he was looking for and I screamed back: Me neither- I'd like a passing zone PLEASE!
We came to the delicious place on the road where a speed limit sign clearly states END SPEED LIMIT 45!
Yay! "LET THOSE PONIES RUN PAP!" I yelled to Mr. Altima, "GIVE YOUR HORSE THE REINS!!" Unfortunately, his head was turned the opposite way looking at some rural scenery and failed to see this notice. The Blue Haired's cataracts prevented her from seeing it also.
I may or may not have been making some horrible faces at this point. U2, then decided it would be quite hilarious to sing me "You've got to get yourself together, you've got stuck in a moment, and you can't get out of it.." Not funny guys, I thought back, what I got stuck in is a sight seeing tour with no passing zones. I then began considering the cost of getting Shirley fitted with a cattle catcher, like on the front of trains, so I could just start ramming people like this out of my way. (KELLY CHRISTINE! - that's what my mom always said when I would say something inappropriate, so I felt like I should interject that for her.)
Over hill and dale we went. Slowly. I shouldn't have done it but I finally zinged around Mr. Altima & Mrs. Blue Hair when I had a chance. Shirley put her six cylinders to work and we passed that egg-timer. And delightfully drove 57mph the rest of the way to town.