You take the high way

Since the late 1950s, the Baltimore Beltway has engirdled the Baltimore Metropolitan area like a boa constrictor squeezing the last boar at a buffet. The plan was for a road that would take one from one part of town to another by means of a high-speed limited access highway. And it's a great idea on paper. The problem is, we do our driving on asphalt, not paper.

When I worked midnight shift, I would pile into the car and drive for miles and miles in the middle of the night (the beauty of a 3 AM lunch hour). No one else was on the Beltway (fun fact for Baltimoreans: the official name of what we call the Baltimore Beltway is the McKeldin Beltway. Since 2005, it has been named for former Governor Theodore "Beaver" McKeldin, during whose administration many big roads were planned and constructed. I would be four quarters short of a buck if I had a quarter for every time I have heard someone call it that, though) at that hour, so I could pretty much loop the town and enjoy the all-night radio serenade as I cruised about.

The official speed limit on I-695 is 55 miles an hour, but depending on the hour you happen to be on it, you might not get much above 20 miles an hour. It's like anything else with these roads: when everyone wants to use them, there can't be enough, and the rest of the time, it's wide open. The West Side of town is where your national Social Security Headquarters is, so you have a lot of people working there who need to get there when the pandemic is over. The East Side used to have a steel plant and a Chevrolet plant; now they have an Amazon warehouse, and that tells you all you need to know about your American economy. The Central part of town - my stomping grounds when I do get in the mood to do some stomping - has universities and colleges and courts and lawyers.

And 99% of the working population gets on the Beltway any time I happen to use it. I had to go to the west side the other day, and no, nothing has changed. There are still fools trying to go 90 in the left lane, and fools trying to go 30 in the right lane, and fools who have watched too much NASCAR zipping in and out of lane and lane to get ten feet ahead. And people who may be going only 45 miles an hour, but have that tricky muffler that makes it sound like a fully loaded Kenworth Tractor-Trailer is right behind you. 

I do mean right behind you, too. A guy (notice, it is ALWAYS "a guy") in a maroon Honda tailgated me from Greenspring Av to I-795, and if he had gotten an inch closer, I was going to have to ask him to put a mask on his hood, I wanna tell ya. Tailgating is a popular means of driving that allows many people to meet their fellow commuter, a state trooper, a body and fender repairman, and a chiropractor.

And of course, it always seems that no one pays attention in Driver Education to the part where they discuss merging onto a highway. Git out my way, sucker, is the approach as they zoom off the ramp.  You stop or else!

The all-too-often aftermath

As Bernie Mac used to say, "America, I'll be honest with you." As a retired American, if I drive anywhere, it's to the grocery store or the hardware store or Popeye's, so I don't encounter crazy rush-hour driving. 

But for those of you who must drive the McKeldin, please slow down or switch to the Enya station or recite calming mantras. The way some of you drive reminds me of the old bumper sticker: Drive Like Hell And You'll Get There.