Mondays. Not normally a favorite, but I usually have to deal with them at least once a week. This particular Monday, amazingly enough, I was ready a little early. The Dyna was set to go, so I threw on my jacket, strapped on the lid, and opened the garage door. Out we went, rolling backwards down the gently outward sloping floor into the driveway. The sun was up, fresh over the horizon. The sky was spotted with pink and purple altocumulus clouds.
A push of the button brought the beast to life, the exhaust note bouncing off the pavement and into the house next door. Sunglasses firmly in place, I stepped on the shifter, dropped it into first gear, and rolled out the sub, making no friends with the neighbors as I left. They don’t seem to like me; I can’t figure out why….
I rolled north to the six lanes of east-west divided “mile” road that connects my distant, far northeast suburban residence to the “civilization” at the other end of the north-south expressway. As I turned east, the full intensity of the rising morning sun was straight in front of me. 65 degrees, fair, mostly sunny. A truly perfect late summer morning.
But then in the distance, I saw it. The first signs of stupid. I could see an SUV on the overpass. It was 25 feet down the ramp, on the shoulder with its reverse lights on. Nice. Always the sign of intelligent life. As I briskly swept up the overpass, now the maneuver made sense. The entire southbound expressway was gridlocked, dead stopped, as far as I could see. Stupid, it seems, had prevailed over my previously perfect Monday morning.
Unfortunately, by this point I was already committed. But, just for the sake of discussion, let me add that it wouldn’t have mattered. MDOT, in their wisdom, has managed to screw up all traffic anywhere near me, or anywhere I’d like to go. I swear, they didn’t even start road projects until mid June. Whatever, back to my Ride of Stupid.
So I get on the “express” way, and spend a lot of time practicing my low speed handling and getting intimate with my clutch’s friction zone. (Sounds sexy, right?) Several times, I contemplated splitting the lanes. I told myself that it wasn’t a good idea with the shield and bags on. In reality, it’s really not a good idea at all, but that excuse seemed to satisfy my ego.
20 minutes later, and I’d made it a mile. Still no sign of intelligent life here. As I crept along, I watched as the sun rose and the clouds dissipated, and as people flicked cigarettes out their windows at me, while playing with the radio and texting. Obviously, driving is their first priority.
Somewhere between thoughts of “what a beautiful view” and “I should smash in that d-bag’s window”, the signs started. Construction ahead. Road work. Lane ends, merge left. Then the ever-so-subtle flashing arrow sign. Orange pylons gradually edged from the shoulder and into the right lane, eventually closing it off. Then I could see it. The Great Expressway Obstruction!! Two giant state barricades, easily five feet high, blocked the right lane of a small bridge. Not a road worker to be found, and not a thing wrong with the road.
But revenge had been exacted. Apparently, out of fury, last night’s drunkenness, or its foggy head-pounding remnants, some soul had committed a well-deserved assault on the pylons and even the barricade. All I could do was laugh hysterically, because I could just see this guy bowling though these stupid cones when he realized there wasn’t a god damn person out there working, and there wasn’t a god damn thing wrong with the road. It was just…blocked.
I rolled on the throttle, cackling like a madman, now ready to begin the work week.