eleven shades of red - From there to here

February 27th, 2008 · No Comments

eleven shades of red - The first stop is at a BP station down the road, just before the ramp to the freeway. I pull up next to the pump and steady myself for a moment. It’s well below freezing outside, single digits Fahrenheit, and inserting the credit card, unscrewing the tank, and holding the pump handle will all be trying tasks.

The gas here is a good twenty cents lower than it was back home. As the tank fills up, I wonder why that might be the case. I have no idea, all I have is the vague but definite suspicion that prices are being gouged. Not that it matters that much – just a couple of dollars.

I settle back into the seat and make a last spot check. There are no other cars at the pump; no one is hurrying me. I take my time, making sure I fit right into the middle of the seat. There is no one else in the car. I check the passenger seat. Case with dark glasses, in the unlikely eventuality that the sun comes out. Box of Trader Joe’s chocolate covered cherries, in case attention starts to flag. Energy bar. Replacement disks – Phil Lesh and Friends at Bethlehem PA, 11/17/01, sets 1 and 2. Printout of directions, 18-point font. Bottle of water in cup-holder. Dick’s Picks vol. 22 loaded. I’m good to go.

I ease away from the pump, loop to the left, meet the main road at the dip in the tarmac, brush against the sidewalk in the tight turn to the narrow lane, and hit the ramp to the freeway. I’m on the road again.

Well, almost.

The first three points on the navigation chart involve switching multiple freeways within city limits. I’ve driven this route a few times now so it’s not as bewildering as it was the first time round – every highway number and exit seemed to involve the digit 7. Two nights ago I’d even driven across town to go to dinner, so the fruits of habit had begun to grow on my branch. I made the transitions relatively comfortably. Soon I am on the annoying stretch – the freeway with the lights.

Fifty minutes of interrupted driving and nothing to do about it. I sit in the right lane for a while, determined to take it easy, but soon my patience begins to flag. I switch to the left – at least it seems to be going faster. But the added pace is largely illusory; there’s no stopping the lights that crop up every time the needle begins to settle at fifty. At one of these stops the sun does come out. I take the opportunity to switch into the shades. A little further down the line a large blue Dodge pick-up barges into my lane from the right. My hand jumps for the honk but holds back. Partly it’s the relaxation from the weekend, partly my friend’s admonishment: I’d honked someone who’d butted into my lane without a signal the previous day, he’d raised his hand in apology, but my friend had warned me about the part of town we were driving through. I take no chances.

The traffic thins out after a bit. Soon there’s a long glorious empty stretch where the road curves to t
Source: eleven shades of red - From there to here