Thoughts to ponder on the road

The propensity to speed up significantly once a car has signaled its intention to change lanes and pull in front of you does not belong exclusively to New York drivers. But it certainly originated with us. I view it as a national movement, East to West. San Francisco is probably the last to get the message. They’re so laid back there, they’ll wait for the other guy to signal, move, proceed and get home before they’d grab top gun position in the traffic pecking order.

There’s another dimension to driving an RV. Height. At 12’3” tall, we’re discovering overpasses that were built for covered wagons and 18th century citizens, not mammoth vehicles and vitamin-enriched humans. We’re discovering trees that have failed to reach their proper height, so we’re encouraging them to grow by pruning their lower limbs. We’re discovering new perspectives, where Porsches look like ants, and Cadillac SUV’s look like wannabes. It’s nice at the top.

There’s a mathematical formula that reads something like this:
RV + small car = Sudden speed x narrowest part of road x blind spot.

Most road warriors are green-minded. They pick up their garbage, recycle their waste and leave their sites as nature intended. But when you have to wash each dish, each coffee mug, each wine glass, each knife, fork and spoon by hand, and separate everything with padding so the rattles don’t deafen you as you travel on, plastic becomes incredibly attractive.

Where we lived for 11 serene years, there were geese, ducks, foxes, turkeys, coyotes, deer, frogs, eagles and birds of every species, not to mention insects from teeny to beautiful to mean as, well, mean as hornets. I suppose the country will provide us with new beasts to enjoy, but the bar is already pretty high. Bring it on, Mother Nature.

Errata: Hooks are a beautiful thing. Every guest bedroom should have a mirror. A limo driver who knows the way is worth his weight in gas. Never let your husband put dates on the calendar; let him tell you and then you double check that the wedding is truly on Sunday and not Saturday. When a man misses the exit, it’s not you he’s mad at. It’s the whole world.

Why is it that when you pick up your $97 worth of dry cleaning all tied together with one giant twist tie, it’s always the middle hanger that drops down into the morass of plastic and refuses to be captured?
Betty