Another tale from the daily commute

Interstate 81 between Wilkes-Barre and Scranton is a busy stretch of road, full of commuters and truckers and occasionally people who are just trying to get fro here to there. On most days it's a fast road, meaning that even though the posted speed limit drops to 55 mph due to the increased population density, you can still find yourself in a pack of traffic doing 70, or 75, or more.

But there are cops. State Troopers. There are lots of nooks and crannies for them to hide in. So sometimes speeders get caught. Sometimes.

There are also several right-hand on ramps and left-hand off ramps along this section of the highway. Drivers perform a constant ballet as they try to avoid ballistically merging with other drivers entering the highway who have somehow interpreted the "YIELD" signs to say "RAMMING SPEED."

So it was in the wake of one of these maneuvers that I found myself cruising along in the left lane somewhere north of the speed limit.

Oh, I wasn't going that fast. No slower than the car behind me, no faster than the cars in front of me. But actually, judging from how close the sporty silver sedan behind me was following me, I was going slower than they thought I should be going.

So I judged the road ahead. Left lane: clear for at least the next hundred yards or so. Right lane: gradually overtaking two tractor trailers heaving themselves uphill. Beyond them, free and clear.

I looked at the time. I had a half hour to cover the next ten miles. I was in no hurry. Pass the trucks, pull into the right lane, drop out of warp speed, make the rest of the trip at full impulse power. No problem.

I did just that. For a moment I realized that just up ahead was another right-hand merge, and perhaps I had made a tactical mistake. Too late now. The silver sedan, glad to be free of my obstruction, zoomed past me, and was closely followed by several other cars.

A cloud of dust erupted from the on ramp ahead. What the...?

The State Trooper pulled nimbly out of his position of concealment alongside the ramp and into the clearing in the road ahead of me, then slipped into the left lane. He threaded his way through several cars, all going well over the speed limit. He seemed to be focused on just one, up ahead.

I'm no good at recognizing cars. I think it's related to my prospagnosia prosopagnosia, my difficulty recognizing faces. Ask me to pick a car out of a lineup and I may be able to get the color and number of wheels, but not much else. So I'm not sure that the sporty silver sedan that the State Trooper pulled over about a mile ahead of me was actually the same sporty silver sedan that had followed me so closely in the left lane for several miles. I could just hear them thinking: That putz in front of me was so slow...I finally got the chance to make up for lost time, and now this?

All I can say is, Oops. Sorry.

And maybe, Better luck next time.