It seemed like a normal day running errands in the city. Of course, the Cape Fear bridge is closed for repair and all traffic into the city must cross the river on the north side. The additional daily traffic is estimated to be more than 30,000 private autos and anywhere between 400 and 700 big rigs.
That's a significant amount of traffic. Still, if I cross sometime after the morning rush hour, it shouldn't be too bad. That's what I told myself as I headed east on Highway 17.
The traffic backup began before I got to the battleship exit. That's about three miles from the Holmes bridge. If you're a regular here on The Circular Journey, then you've surely read my raves and rants on the subject of quantum physics. That being the case, I don't need to tell you that when a butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazonian rainforest, the upshot can possibly be a hurricane off the coast of Houston.
That butterfly was warming up its wings in the pit of my stomach as I contemplated those three miles of bumper-to-bumper ranygazoo. Princess Amy was repeating, Oh no, oh no.
As I approached the turning lanes, a pickup decided to move into my space. He began his move. It was a bust. He'd hesitated a little too long and had to cancel. But no! He'd made that change after all. He was able to squeeze his square truck into the round hole between me and the car ahead by forcing me to stop and wait for him.
Off with his head! shouted Amy.
I felt that old familiar feeling of anxiety growing in my chest. It grew some more when I realized that several people weren't in their preferred lanes and they began shifting before they missed the opportunity.
How is it that so many people panic even though plenty of signs on the highway remind us that there are two turning lanes--one leading to the beaches and one leading downtown?
Perhaps they think the helpful hints are for other people and they are not other people. Did I mention that I was just a little nervous as the mob of vehicles entered the downtown district.
It was his turn to decide to move into the space that Wind Horse was occupying. Fortunately, he saw me in time to avoid a collision and quickly moved back into his lane. The foiled attempt seemed to disturb him and as I glided past he gave me a dirty look and revved his engine a few more times.
I'll give you something that'll make you think disturbed, said the little princess. It's something I heard often growing up and never really understood its meaning--not really.
Just to be friendly, I revved Wind Horse's engine and returned his look. Oh, man! That was a mistake.
As soon as he gained clearance, he pulled right behind me and began alternately rushing up behind me and revving like the dickens. I interpreted his behavior to imply, Oh yeah! What do you think about that, Buster.
I must have been driving too carefully for him because he seemed to quickly tire of the game and again changed lanes, moving past me with more engine growling and dirty looks.
I was tired of the game too. The unpleasant experience of coming downtown with all the extra traffic had put off my bien ettre, if that's the term.
I decided to abandon my errands at the next exit. As I pulled into the turning lane, the little muscle car cruised by me one more time, and one more time I was given the heightened RPM's and the dirty look.
Don't mess with the bull, young man, you'll get the horns. That's the thought I had as I sounded my horn to acknowledge his greeting. I smiled and felt much better about the whole affair as I saluted him with the fickle finger.
Ha, ha! said Amy. I hope he follows us. I'd like to give him a piece of my mind.
Sometimes I think Amy should count to 10 before opening her mouth, especially when she's worked up.
Before closing, let me just say that I didn't really do or think such things. Not really. Oh, but I can't lie to you, my loyal public. Yes, I did those things. But please don't follow my example. I don't approve of my behavior, and neither should you, but sometimes I just can't control it.
I blame Princess Amy.