I was a little late already. And to complicate matters, I was driving in that kind of snow that a cabbie friend of mine compares to driving inside a vanilla malt. But I do a lot of driving as a commuter to Whitewater, and over the years, I've learned a few modest road warrior skills. Most people, I believe, are good, safe, and courteous drivers, and I try to be the same. Reports of road rage have made me even more circumspect about reacting to the occasional idiot who drives thoughtlessly and recklessly. My blood may still rise, but I'm less likely than I once was to give the one-finger salute.

But this morning I was late, and I knew that my commuting buddy, whom I rendezvous with at the Park and Ride, wouldn't be able to wait, and I would end up driving in this wheel-gripping weather by myself. So perhaps I rounded the corner where East Wash folds into Blair St. on fewer than all four wheels-- only to be confronted with the business back end of a Streets and Sanitation vehicle (indelicately known as a garbage truck) lodged in my turn lane like a larva in a pupa.

I had little choice but to do SOMETHING STUPID. I switched lanes, swerving fast into the left, but without benefit of mirrors. It was either that or crash my shiny Pathfinder into the nasty back end of a sanitary district vehicle. And I KNOW that it was too much to ask to get away with SOMETHING SO STUPID and so I was halfway anticipating the inevitable BLARING of a horn off to my left-but not very darned far off to my left.

BLA-A-AT! went the horn. SHUCKS! (or something to that effect) I said to my STUPID self. ZIP! I steered back into my rightful right lane. The driver I had cut off whizzed past me. "THANK YOU," I shouted to the Great Automotive Gods who had spared me the embarrassment of getting caught doing SOMETHING SO STUPID. (I'm reminded of something my son Alex said once when he was about to be disciplined-"How come when I do something wrong I always get blamed for it!")

But I was not to get off so easily. Ahead, through the muck, I saw the light turn red. Turning a matching color, I crept up slowly beside the offended party. I had no choice. I couldn't stop fifty feet back to avoid confrontation. Still, I slunk down in my seat as low as I could, (which is pretty low considering that I am the height of an average ten-year-old kid.)

Peripherally, I saw the offended driver gesticulating. (If that light is not the longest one in all of Madison, it must come in second, by the way.) All right, I thought, I've run out of other places to look, I'll be the brave little engine and take my punishment. I looked. I pointed to my own STUPID self-slapping my forehead in "mea culpa" fashion. The driver leaned toward me, not four feet away, rolled his passenger side window down. (How BAD will he scold me? I wondered.) He mouthed "It's okay!" and he made the "OK" sign with his right hand and smiled. Then the light turned green. It was my first incident of "road nicing".

And, you know what? I think it has been more effective than any screaming fit he might have had. Sometimes, you just gotta love living in this town.

-Gay Davidson-Zielske


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