“Come on, Kimmie. You want the car we have to leave now. I’m not waiting all day. Traffic already sucks.”
“I’m right here, Dad.” She rolled her eyes in the manner of teenagers across America
He backed out of the rear entry garage, and, sporting a tight grin, put it in drive. It was time for the daily rat race, the opportunity to prove himself behind the wheel. By the time he reached the end of the driveway the car had accelerated to 15 mph. As he checked the street for oncoming traffic he suddenly realized a school bus was almost on top on them. His first and only reaction was to hit the gas, squealing out of the driveway in front of the bus so he wouldn’t have to stop and wait when it picked up kids. Looking in his rear-view mirror at the incensed expression on the bus driver’s face, he chuckled at his deviousness. With that clever maneuver he had shaved a couple precious minutes off the daily commute. He was pumped; the race had just started and he was already kicking ass. Thirty seconds later, while fumbling for a cigarette, he rolled through a subdivision stop sign where a swarm of young children awaited the school bus.
When they reached the intersection of their subdivision street with the five-lane artery, he quickly glanced to his left at the huge slug of traffic rolling down the hill toward them like an out of control freight train, instantly calculating the distance and speed of the lead cars. He could just barely make it. So he pulled out in front of the mass of cars but with the elegant panache of the victor he failed to accelerate with the alacrity needed to stay ahead of the pack.
“Dad,” Kimme said, weary beyond her years. “Step on it. The cars are piling up behind you.”
“Yeah? So what?” he replied. “I’m in this lane. Let ‘em deal with it.”
A few minutes later, as cars behind him pulled over onto the shoulder, he cursed their drivers for idiocy. But when realized an EMS vehicle was passing in the left lane, its siren and horn blasting at 99.9 decibels, he immediately whipped behind it to take advantage of the suddenly clear lane. He raised a clenched fist, congratulating himself on another fantastic move. Man, he was hot today.
As the ambulance turned left into a subdivision, he decided it was time to get into the right lane. After a quick estimate told him he could slip into the car length and a half distance separating the vehicles on his right, he simply eased into the open space. When the driver behind him protested by laying on his horn he looked in the mirror and yelled, “Up yours, pal. I got my blinker on.”
He looked back to the road in time to see the light in front of him had turned yellow and instantly gunned it through the intersection, triumphant that he was able to beat the light. With no cops in sight. Yeah! Another score for the big guy.
On the outer road paralleling the Interstate that had a posted speed limit of 45 mph, he hit a respectable 65 mph, pleased he was at least keeping up with traffic on the freeway. No way was he going to slow down and lose time. No sir. He hit the entry ramp with the skill of a Jeff Gordon wanna-be and accelerated to 83 mph while flashing his lights on and off to get the slow-moving idiot half a car length in front of him to move over. A moment later, he took his eyes off the road and frowned at the terrified victim cowering in the passenger seat.
“What’s your problem?” he asked impatiently, irritated with all back seat drivers. Even ones too terrified to open their mouths.
He picked up the cell phone on the first ring, listened for a moment, and told his business partner he would be in the office in less than five minutes. While listening to what was on today’s work schedule he took one last long drink of coffee, weaving through four lanes of high-speed traffic with only his knee on the wheel with the precision and concentration of a seasoned daily commuter.
When they finally came to a screeching halt in the office parking lot, he exclaimed, “Damn! I’m already exhausted. The road’s full of idiots who don’t know how to drive. One of these days I’m going to write a book.”
He grabbed the briefcase from the back seat and told his daughter, “Be sure you’re back here at 5:00. And drive safely. There’s a lot of crazies on the road.”
* * *
We’ve all seen every one of the above driving maneuvers and worse during our daily commutes to and from work. Performed by male and female drivers alike. Each and every one of whom is convinced that she or he is a “good” driver. Question is: What’s the matter with us? Can we be so stupid to think that every day we can commit egregious errors of judgment behind the wheel and still be “good” drivers? As if being a “good” driver is an entitlement, not a skill you have to earn.
There are simple surrogate measure that will tell you if you have the critical characteristics that would help you to be a good driver. First, did you ever play at a high level of competence in any competitive sport from secondary school through college? Or, failing that, were you acknowledged as an excellent athlete in any physical endeavor by people who know the sport well? Or, even if you never played competitive sports, do you have excellent coordination and superior concentration skills? Because that’s what we’re talking about. Good athletes, like good drivers, have fast reaction times, great eye to hand and eye to foot coordination, first-class judgment under pressure, and superb powers of concentration. But how many people who consider themselves “good” drivers have those characteristics?
It could be that one of the great false universals operating in today’s world is that everyone is a good driver. Of course, that’s what nearly every driver thinks. That she/he possesses better than average driving skills. In fact, only one person has admitted in my presence that she was not a good driver. Actually, she was a dangerous driver but at least she realized it and acted accordingly by letting her friends drive whenever possible.
So, the questions I’d like to poise are: what makes a good driver and how many of those animals are out there?
First, let’s define that elusive term, good. Good means having positive or desirable qualities. It also means better than average.
Perhaps there are so many shitty drivers out there that even the poor ones start to look good in their own eyes. I mean, when was the last time you got on an Interstate highway and drove the speed limit without being passed by nearly every car on the roadway? Or tried to maintain a safe interval between you and the car in front of you without 35 idiots cutting in and braking as soon as they were in your lane? Or while traveling at 65 MPH in the center lane and didn’t have some blithering fool about 14 inches from your rear bumper who wanted you to get out of her/his way? The truth is people drive terribly today and we all know it. But the finger of blame is always pointed at other drivers. Always.
We drive too fast, too close, don’t pay attention, take foolish risks, drink coffee and other fluids, talk on cell phones, put on make-up, and send text messages while behind the wheel. But uniformly we think of ourselves as good drivers. It’s time to wake up and smell the coffee.
Considerably fewer good drivers are on the road now than at any time in my life. Part of the problem is the general state of extreme narcissism that characterizes a frightening portion of our population. Me me me is their mantra. Second, everyone is in a terrific hurry. Whatever it is it must be done now and that includes driving from here to there at a high rate of speed. A third part is that young women have liberated themselves to the extent that they now drive just as badly as young male assholes. And in my eyes that’s not an achievement we should celebrate.
In many ways driving is a lot like athletics. How many people have played organized sports at any level and succeeded to the point that they could be judged as better than average in that sport. Having watched hundreds of high school and university events in which my children played I can testify that many of the kids in high school sports and most of those at the college level have good to superior levels of athletic talents. They exhibit varying levels of expertise in executing events that demand coordination and quick reflexes. But most of the students attending those schools are non-athletes with decreased levels of success in sinking a 3-point basket, spiking a volleyball down the line, jumping the high hurdles, holing a 28-foot putt, hitting a breaking ball in baseball/softball, or negotiating a slalom course, etc.
If most young people at the peak of their physical talents have difficulty walking and farting with any degree of coordination (that analogy is taken directly from LBJ’s characterization of Gerry Ford), why then do they automatically become “good” drivers as soon as they climb behind the wheel? And why do they stay “good” drivers throughout their lives?
It’s something to think about when you get behind the wheel and tail-gate the car in front of you at 78 mph and wonder when the old fool is going to get the fuck out of your way. Not even aware that at 78 mph (114 feet per second) a vehicle cannot be stopped in less than 320 feet. Average human perception time while driving is the three-quarters of a second it takes to recognize a dangerous situation ahead and realize you have to brake. Average human reaction time after that is another three-quarters of a second it takes to move your foot to the brake pedal. When you combine perception and reaction times, a full 171 feet will pass before your car even begins to slow from 78 mph. From the time you perceive a situation requiring braking until the time your car comes to a complete stop, a total of about 4.5 seconds will elapse. During that time your car will travel a total of more than 320 feet, and perhaps a good deal more if your perception time is slow because you were talking to your friends, or listening to your tunes, or checking your smart phone to see who just called. Or if your brakes and tires are less than in perfect condition.
So, what do you think a driver’s chance of avoiding a severe accident if he or she is tailgating at 78 mph (or even 60 mph and 88 feet per second) and the vehicle in front suddenly brakes because a deer ran in front of the car or another driver veered into the lane? Duh.
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