Complaining about the idiotic and potentially lethal behavior of other drivers is a favorite American pastime, and I myself indulge regularly. It’s pretty safe to mutter epithets under your breath when “the other guy” can’t possibly hear you, and any fingers that I display are well-hidden under the dash.
         Humans, of course, make mistakes. I’ve pulled quite a few traffic boners myself--when the other guy’s quick wits kept us both out of accidents. But some people are chronically bad drivers who constantly risk the lives and limbs of everyone around them. Nowhere is this more evident than on Interstate 5, that central artery of the Golden State.
         California taxpayers funded my high school driver education class in the 70s--a wise investment, I’m sure. Right at the beginning of my driving career, I became completely convinced about the importance of keeping at least a “two-second interval” following distance, at any speed. I learned to “keep the eyes moving” and to frequently shift the focus between near and far. No spaced-out blank stares barrelling down the road here. But they never taught me how to drive that two-lane-on-each-side I-5 superhighway so as to protect myself and my passengers from the lunatics. I finally figured it out myself about ten years ago.
         One night, heading down to see family in LA, I studied the headlights and traffic patterns on the other side of the highway. I noticed that there would be a big clump of ten or 15 cars right on each other’s tails. Then a big open space maybe a mile or more wide, with a car or two and some trucks comfortably spread out. Then, another clump of cars packed together. Then another big space...
         I realized: “If they’re driving like that over there, they’re probably doing exactly the same thing on my side, too.” Then: “If I can drive in the spaces, it’s a lot less likely that I’ll have my neck broken or brain injured or guts smeared across the front seat.” Serious business out there, and I started perceiving just how violently crazy these people are, as I watched clumps of cars passing me--pushing each other from just two or three car-lengths back at 80 or 90 miles an hour. Reckless propulsion of several thousand pounds of steel and glass definitely counts as assault with a deadly weapon in my book. One person in the clump messes up or a tumbleweed blows across the road at the wrong time, and it’s crunch crunch crunch--big time. Not much margin for error.
         I also saw how slower cars in the fast lane--even “slower” cars going 80--can create the deadliest situations, as the bottled-up clump-drivers stuck behind perform desperate maneuvers to get around. Some people who use “cruise control” put their brains on auto-pilot too. The truck is going 75, they’re doing 76, and it takes them forever to pass--while they seem completely oblivious to the death that brews in their wake. We have to make accomodations for the shortcomings of others. If you’re a little slower, pull into the slow lane on the right and let the psychos pass. Or step on the gas, get on around that truck, and then change into the slow lane.
         When I really perceived the behavior of the clump-drivers, I knew I wanted no part of their suicidal mass insanity. But I also didn’t want to be the slowest car on the road. Then I developed a solution: I vary my speed so that I can drive in the spaces and not in the clumps. When a clump is behind me, I stay in the right and let ‘em all go by, keeping a safe distance behind whatever slow traffic I’m following. When the last brain-dead speed demon has passed and there’s a big space behind me, I pull out into the fast lane, speed up a lot, pass the slow traffic, and then drive in the open spaces--keeping to the right except to pass. I keep my eyes moving, check the mirrors often, and try never to hold someone back who’s itching to go by.
         When the next clump catches up to me, I just stay in the right lane and marvel at the adrenaline in 20 feet of following distance for hundreds of miles at 85 miles an hour. When all the psychotics have passed me, I speed up again. I might vary my speed by twenty miles an hour, but most of the time I can drive in the open spaces at a good clip. The speed-junkies in the clumps might arrive 15 or 20 minutes earlier, but it’s hardly worth it. I’ve been in one traffic accident in my life, and hope never to repeat the experience.