Driving in Baltimore

       This is the view out my window as I drive on I-695 around Baltimore. 

Don't worry. Johanna took this picture. All my hands were on the wheel.

       This is my speedometer.

I'm not telling who took this picture.

       Comparing these two pictures, you wouldn't think that cars would be whizzing past me on every side, would you? 

        Loyal readers will recall that my favorite thing about Geneva was the public transportation. Our one car mostly sat in the garage. If the kids wanted to go somewhere, they took the tram. My groceries arrived at my door.

Life has changed a bit since we returned to the US. This is my new best friend and constant companion.

At least it's a pretty color, right?

And this is what I spend a lot of time looking at.

Yes. They all have their brake lights on. Always.

I am sure that there are worse roads in the world that I-695. It’s just that I have never driven on one. The speed limit may be 55 mph, but everyone is either going 75 mph or at a complete standstill. And we switch from one speed to the other without warning. Combined with the every-half-mile merges, five other interstates shooting off and joining up, and ubiquitous construction, it is no surprise that there’s been an accident on this interstate almost every time I’ve driven on it. Which is far more frequently than I could ever ask or imagine. The accidents don’t do much to regularize the traffic flow, although they do provide ample opportunity for spontaneous prayer. Which is better than spontaneous cursing.

Our neighbor, who is a Baltimore native, told us that when he took driver’s ed, the instructor told the class to always drive 8 miles over the speed limit. Apparently to avoid being run over from behind. We’re not in Geneva anymore, Toto. And not in the Midwest, either. Gone are the friendly farmers in pickup trucks who wave other cars on in front of them and regard the speed limit as an upper, rather than a lower limit. 

My (least) favorite road sign sends me into panic every time I see it. Tell me, how am I supposed to drive in a mature and responsible fashion with this kind of instruction?

In Indiana, they'd tell you to get ready to start thinking about merging pretty soon. Right after you finish your donut. Here, this is the first warning they give.

If the other drivers are any indication, the answer is, I’m not.