Tuesday

Summer's over now, which means that I'm being shoved off of the highway and onto backroads much sooner during my morning drive. I used to be able to make it all the way to my exit on the highway, but now it's like the whole world has been jerked back into reality and they all meet in the morning to trudge the beaten trail together.

I always think it's interesting how so many people are trying to progress in the same direction but yet they have no idea how to do it faster than a snail's pace. Some mornings I hit the road and think that through some miraculous turn of events traffic will be both voluminous and simultaneously forging ahead at a steady clip. But then again, I haven't had coffee first thing in the morning in a while now and it might be seriously affecting my brain. Without fail, there is nothing miraculous about traffic these days, except its undaunting ability to morph me into a frustrated mess behind a fist-pounded steering wheel. So in order to avoid aneurysm, I flee the collapsing hoard, that beacon of vehicular incompetence, and take to slower and calmer roads with whoever else decided that the longevity of their sanity was more valuable than a straight(er) shot to their destination.

The back roads are really nice, though. Perhaps even a little too relaxing for those without a healthy dose of caffeine in their system. I slither between sprawling estates with manicured landscapes and scoot underneath bowing canopies that have tangled, over time, to create miniature tunnel systems that mute the sunlight and disrupt my satellite radio reception. I dodge those small plastic signs designed to look like children warning me to drive slow as I pass the country club's tennis court crosswalk. Very rarely is anyone out that early, but the heated tennis court is still steaming off the morning dew in anticipation. There are school buses that slow everything down, but they dip in and out of so many neighborhoods that time spent behind them is relatively fleeting. A few flashes of the red and yellow and they're gone. The traffic cop at the high school recognizes me now and we exchange waves as he motions me to continue. He's got a wild behavior about him that aides in his ability to usher oncoming traffic in multiple directions but not control his temper when disobeyed. He's laced into a few drivers who tested his patience, always turning back in my direction to shake his head after his angry diatribe and point me on my way.

As annoying as it is to be forced off of the easy route every morning, the back roads give me a chance to prepare and relax before I have to start my day. I don't have to worry about people floating into my lane, or slamming on my brakes to avoid sitting in someone's back seat. My biggest concern is trying to quickly get a look at the sky so my Sirius won't fizzle out as much. Truth be told, if I have to choose between intermittent satellite reception or wanting to punch the nearest living thing once I finally exit my car after an arduous highway excursion, I'll take to the woods any day.

The trick now is to just try and keep it a secret as best I can and let the crazies duke it out along their dotted lines.