The Ultimate Driving Experience?

The drive between Reno, Nevada and Sacramento, California spans a beautiful pass through the Sierra Nevada mountain range. The rocks hang over the edges of cliffs, waiting for the winter freeze to loosen their hold, and summer’s heat to bust them loose to slide down to the freeway. Some of their precarious positions worried me.

However, it was really other motorists that posed the perils on the last leg of our journey.

Three of those drivers moved in and out of our company as we simultaneously viewed the sights and their poor driving exhibitions.

Little Subaru took up residence in the left lane, maintaining the same speed as the car to its right, holding up both lanes of traffic.

Ms. Continental abstained from cruise control, but kept her motor mouth engaged. She passed us going 90, and then braked abruptly and rode flush on the bumper of Little Subaru. She pulled into the right lane and tried to bully the other driver as well. (Earlier, she showed her true colors by pulling out from between two trucks and nearly forcing us off the road. With no apparent knowledge of our presence, she continued to drive with one hand and talk with the other.)

Mr. Taurus appeared to lack mountain driving experience. His face was white and strained. I wondered at first if he’d eaten bad food, because his wife and two kids in the back seat were also pale and pinched.

Little Subaru refused to obey the signs that demand slower traffic keep right. I cut him some slack because the furrows, dug by the winter chains from heavy semi trucks, in the right hand lane were deep and rutted .

Eventually, Little Subaru’s annoyance of Ms Continental two-inch buffer from his tail lights won out. He signaled, jerked, and bounced into the uneven lane,

We were nearly sucked into the jet wash when Ms. Continental floored her massive engine and roared up the highway. A few moments later we saw the back end of her car lurching upwards and her bright red brake lights signaling that she had found her next tail gating victim.

We passed Little Subaru and then Mr. Taurus.

“Mr. Taurus has that look about him,” I told the hubby, “ that makes me want to be miles away when we get to that 4% downgrade ahead.”

The hubby nodded in agreement.

Therefore, it wasn’t a surprise when 10 minutes later the hubby looked in his rear view mirror and announced,
“Hold on to your hat, here comes the downhill racer.”

Sure enough, Mr. Taurus flew by us like a Whistling Pete. His eyes were wide and his expression maniacal. The wife and kids were in typical crash landing position as described by your friendly skies flight attendant.

“Wooo---- howdy,” the hubby hooted.

While sailing under cruise control we eventually caught up with Mr. Taurus. Hysterical laughter painted his and his passengers faces. They’d faced the mountain and survived.

For another 25 miles we played cat and mouse with Ms. Continental; we maintained a constant speed. She continued to swerve and bully, speed up, brake, and then slow down.

At last, the road leveled out and straightened its approach to Sacramento and the notorious highways of California. The three exasperating drivers soon disappeared into the throng; to be replaced by thousands more racing to get somewhere else.

So were we.