July 23, 2014 at 2:10 p.m.
Ruining an otherwise nice drive (5/11/05)
Back in the Saddle
By By Jack Ronald-
It was a Thursday afternoon, and I was headed for Muncie. It’s not one of my favorite drives, but there was a meeting at Minnetrista that I had to attend.
And the sun was shining, so it seemed to be a pretty good recipe for spring fever: A little windshield time, some Etta James on the CD player, no phone calls. What more could a guy ask?
I’d barely left Portland’s city limits when the recipe changed.
Popping up in my rearview mirror as I made the curve near the radio station was a car that was following too closely. I tried to ignore him, but inevitably found myself checking the mirror again and again.
Sometimes he was tailgating so closely I couldn’t see his headlights. Sometimes he backed off slightly.
We headed past Jay County High School and the state highway garage, joined together by some invisible chain, as if my job was now to tow the other car down Ind. 67.
By now, I’d muttered enough curses at the guy that Etta James would have objected that I was ruining her performance.
As we moved past county road 200 South, I figured he’d pass.
Go ahead, I thought. I’d rather have you driving like an idiot in front of me than on my tail.
I slowed down a tad and hugged the white line so he’d get the hint.
He slowed down just as much and hugged my rear bumper even tighter.
In the rear view mirror, he was close enough that I could probably pick him out of a police line-up if I had to. And a minute or two later, I wondered if I would actually have to.
He was reading.
I looked back once in the mirror to see his face entirely hidden by a piece of paper he was perusing, tailgating all the while.
Homework? I wondered.
Then I figured it out: Directions.
Next time I looked back, my reading/driving buddy had a Rand-McNally Road Atlas opened in front of him. Not only couldn’t I see his face, it looked as if the atlas was driving the car.
Maybe he’s looking for Ind. 1, I thought.
No such luck. We breezed through Redkey like automotive Siamese twins.
Maybe he missed the turn for Dunkirk and will take Ind. 167 north, I thought.
Not a chance. We moved through Albany with little space between us.
Finally, after several more consultations with the road atlas, he got where he was going. I almost waved as he took the Muncie Bypass.
But I figured he wouldn’t see me. He had too much reading to do.[[In-content Ad]]
And the sun was shining, so it seemed to be a pretty good recipe for spring fever: A little windshield time, some Etta James on the CD player, no phone calls. What more could a guy ask?
I’d barely left Portland’s city limits when the recipe changed.
Popping up in my rearview mirror as I made the curve near the radio station was a car that was following too closely. I tried to ignore him, but inevitably found myself checking the mirror again and again.
Sometimes he was tailgating so closely I couldn’t see his headlights. Sometimes he backed off slightly.
We headed past Jay County High School and the state highway garage, joined together by some invisible chain, as if my job was now to tow the other car down Ind. 67.
By now, I’d muttered enough curses at the guy that Etta James would have objected that I was ruining her performance.
As we moved past county road 200 South, I figured he’d pass.
Go ahead, I thought. I’d rather have you driving like an idiot in front of me than on my tail.
I slowed down a tad and hugged the white line so he’d get the hint.
He slowed down just as much and hugged my rear bumper even tighter.
In the rear view mirror, he was close enough that I could probably pick him out of a police line-up if I had to. And a minute or two later, I wondered if I would actually have to.
He was reading.
I looked back once in the mirror to see his face entirely hidden by a piece of paper he was perusing, tailgating all the while.
Homework? I wondered.
Then I figured it out: Directions.
Next time I looked back, my reading/driving buddy had a Rand-McNally Road Atlas opened in front of him. Not only couldn’t I see his face, it looked as if the atlas was driving the car.
Maybe he’s looking for Ind. 1, I thought.
No such luck. We breezed through Redkey like automotive Siamese twins.
Maybe he missed the turn for Dunkirk and will take Ind. 167 north, I thought.
Not a chance. We moved through Albany with little space between us.
Finally, after several more consultations with the road atlas, he got where he was going. I almost waved as he took the Muncie Bypass.
But I figured he wouldn’t see me. He had too much reading to do.[[In-content Ad]]
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