Life in the Left Lane

I've lived in areas of the country where surface roads are newer and typically contain turning lanes, at least at intersections.  But in older areas, there is typically just a couple of lanes in each direction separated only by a solid line or two.  Since a lot of people have trouble finding that little rod on the left side of the steering column when making a turn (and even if they don't), traveling on these moderately to heavily trafficked* two laners involves a fair amount of mental calculus.  The left lane usually goes faster, but what if someone in that lane has to make a left, in which case you lose, and have to wait for the left lane turn to be made or for the right lane traffic to go by to proceed around that left-laner. At best, the on-coming traffic is thin enough for a quick left causing only a mild delay.  But if there are no turners, the left lane is a win.

When you're in the left lane you may see the left-laner ahead preparing to make the dreaded turn; do you dare try to merge back to the right?  The static right merge, where merging from a standstill in the left lane into uncoming right lane traffic, is a hazardous maneuver requiring guile and judgment, as typically there is not a lot of space to the the car in front, and finding and integrating into the moving gap is perilous.  A complication here is if there are cars in front or behind you who may also be contemplating the merge.  But this pales in comparison to the dynamic right merge, which in addition to static merge concerns, involves driving toward stopped cars and has only a small window of opportunity to make the merge.  This can be a bold and sometimes reckless move, as you need to keep an eye on the rapidly approaching car(s) ahead which have slowed or stopped while simultaneously gauging the speed of and gap between the upcoming right-laners. You must mentally define the position of the cars in front, calculate what their likely future position relative to yours will be over the next few seconds, and translate that to opportunity time, i.e., the time until you reach the "event horizon," where there is no longer a margin for stopping if you can't merge.  If you have not committed to slowing/stopping by this time, you must merge or likely rearend the car in front of you.  If you have calculated that the forward opportunity time to the event horizon is enough to consider the high risk/high reward of the moving merge, you then must quickly determine the probability that the dynamic merge can be successfully executed.  This entails looking away from the upcoming slowed/stopped cars to the oncoming right-laners.  If you look in the rear or side view mirror, you've bought a little extra time and may have some peripheral contact with the lane in front of you, but have reduced your field of vision and accuracy in gauging the upcoming right-laners.  And remember, objects in your mirror may be closer than they appear.  If you turn to look, you've got a better view and can make a more accurate read on the probabilities for merging, but have lost a fraction of a second as well as lost peripheral vision contact with the left-laners, thereby expanding your computational error term and opportunity for corrective action.  But regardless of whether you are a mirror viewer or a turn viewer, the "event horizon" approaches rapidly and may require a split-second all-in or fold decision. Sometimes you're lucky and the dynamic right merge is a piece of cake, or sometimes there is simply no opportunity to attempt the right merge.  But sometimes there is but a brief chance to make it back to the staid right lane, but it may require an act of courage if not an act of faith, be it gutsy or stupid.

And then there's the prospective left-laner who has crept over the divider to coerce the on-coming drivers to let him/her make the turn, which for them may or may not be an act of free-will.  But in so doing, the left lane turn creeper has freed up some room in your lane.  Is there enough to squeeze by, which will require usurping a slice of the right lane? 

Sometimes you get in the left lane even if you have to make an up-coming right, figuring that one of the cars on the right will have to make a sooner right and open up a gap.  Of course, you might see a "war-veteran" plate on a car ahead and figure that he'll be slow enough to open a gap, but what if there's a car ahead in the left lane who is thinking the same thing, in which case you'll need a two-gap or double opening to make your merge, never mind the left-turn risk.  Or what if there is a car in the left lane not moving fast enough for you to reach the gap?  It's a gamble.

Yes, you can live life in the right lane, where everything is slower, safer, and more predictable, but do you have what it takes for that wild ride in the left lane?

*Never being involved in the drug trade as supplier or consumer, I don't think I've ever written that word as a verb in the past tense. Why isn't the "c" doubled for the "ed?"  Odd spelling, but so much in English is.  It's reasonable, for instance, and this isn't an original thought, that "ghoti" could be the spelling of fish:

• gh, pronounced /f/ as in tough /tʌf/;
• o, pronounced /ɪ/ as in women /ˈwɪmɪn/; and
• ti, pronounced /ʃ/ as in nation /ˈne͡ɪʃən/.

Alphonse and Gaston

I let a lot of people trying to merge into traffic cut in front of me, but have developed some rules for doing so.  First and foremost, if the driver is on the phone or texting (or really doing anything other than driving), s/he isn't getting in.  If the driver has tried to force his/her way into the lane by inching forward so that half the car is sticking out into the road, I'm probably going to try to keep the bully in (unless there's a real risk of an accident- it's OK to make a point, but don't be stupid about it).  If the driver is not paying attention as I slow and stop, I won't wait forever- sorry, you missed your chance.  If the driver just got to the corner, sorry, you haven't done your time yet and earned the break.  If there's a passenger begging to let them in, that's a judgment call.  The same applies to the driver who has rolled down their window* and asks to be let it in. You have to judge the sincerity and necessity of the plea.  Clueless driver, made a mistake, really in a hurry, I'll probably let that person in; pretty girl just trying to manipulate me, expensive car driver used to getting their way, bad aura, they'll probably wait.  Tough call, though.

If there's a traffic light ahead, that's a factor.  If it's red, the odds are greater that I'll let the car in, as it isn't going to cost me any time.  If it's been a long green and I'm in a hurry (and isn't everybody), then probably not.  I can't tell you how many times I've let someone in only to have them get through on the yellow and I catch the red.  And if I've just let in a couple of people over the past few blocks, then it's somebody else's turn to be nice, as I'm starting to feel like a patsy if I'm the only one letting people in.

There are definitely some drivers I'm predisposed to let in.  A parent with children in the car (I know what's that's like), big rig truck drivers, old ladies (that's somebody's granny), and anybody with a good vibe gets priority.  And anybody who looks like they've been sitting there a while and looks reasonably normal is somebody I'd like to help.

But here's the thing, and I remember seeing this on a Seinfeld episode so I know a lot of people feel this way.  Isn't it aggravating when you let somebody in and you don't get the wave, the nod, the smile--- nothing!  Now I know that the joy is supposed to be in the giving, but darn it, I want that wave, and feel like a chump if I don't get it, as though I've just let a bad person get over on me. But I have noticed that if I let somebody in, the odds seem higher that that person will also let somebody in.

*For the younger readers, the expression "roll down your window" comes from the olden days when people actually had to manually crank down their car windows.

Kookies

There was a plate of cookies, and I took a couple two/tree, but then I rearranged the cookies to make it look like there was still the original amount there.  Why?  Is it about the aesthetic appeal of the plate, or that I don't the family members (or me) to think I'm a cookie-hoggin' slob?  Probably some of both.  Bit it's not like sneaking liquor then putting in water to get to the original level (or is it?).  It's not like I didn't leave plenty of cookies for others.  It's not like I can't or shouldn't have them.  So why the subterfuge?  What an odd thing to do... I'm going right back to that plate and put them back to where they were- and maybe have a couple more cookies as long as I'm there...  ^_^

And as long as we're on cookies, one of my favorite subjects, I heard recently that Sesame Street some time ago transformed the Cookie Monster to a Cookies-in-Moderation Monster, and that he now eats fruits and vegetables.  What is wrong with these people?  Kids know that you can't eat only cookies- that's what makes him funny; a driving passion for cookies and only cookies.  For God's sake, Lighten up!  It's a puppet. 

"Dancing in the desert blowing up the sunshine."

I was in San Diego for the holidays, and having lived there for nine years and visited several times since, there really isn't a lot new to see.  What was different this time was spending a couple of days in the desert.  I've been to the desert, both the high desert and low desert, a few times, just touring, hiking, or passing through.  But this was more of a recreation area, a valley dedicated to bikes and buggies and other toys.  I enjoyed walking across the valley and into the mountains- not as dramatic or as far as it sounds- but it was a few hours alone with the sand and the wind, and nobody around for a nice little peaceful adventure.  Used to do that a lot with a dog I once had, but not too much anymore.  But as I was at the top of the mountain overlooking the valley, Mexico off in the distance on one side, the Salton sea on the other, with El Centro and Arizona beyond the military base and state prison, I couldn't help thinking why would people despoil an entire valley just so that they could play?  In two days I don't think I saw a single non-human creature beyond a few stink bugs.  The clearest night sky I'd seen in many years, phenomenal wind at times, and an almost lunar landscape, but just a big sandbox to the hedonists.

When I grew up in New England there was an area in Boston known as the "Combat Zone."  The thinking at the time was that it was worth sacrificing a couple of blocks for strip clubs and seedy bars to allow and contain those things that decent people didn't want to see in their neighborhoods or by their businesses.  That recreation area was like the Combat Zone of the desert, sacrificing miles of natural beauty to protect the rest of the local environment, I guess.  I suppose it's smart, but also sad.  The desert was not only in the land.