She's going the distance...She's going for speed

To the gentleman sporting an ivy cap in the foreign-born, armor-clad SUV:

Dear Sir,

This morning as I drove down the main drag of our quaint little burg, I noticed you right away as a stand-out. In the deserted section of the three-lane road I saw you in my rear view mirror, closing in at a speed exceeding the posted limit as I was accelerating (I know because I was already working up to ten over and you didn't drop back).

I didn't think much of it at the time, as I was on my usual daily mission to get to work. Though anyone speeding besides me in this town is usually related to me, and, since you clearly are not, this was what drew my attention. As I waited behind two cars in the left lane at a light, you did not appear to slow in the right lane, but instead proceeded to signal (thanks for that) and move across three lanes in one shot at the last minute, ahead of both me and the truck I was driving behind.

While this peeved me somewhat, I blew it off and settled into the far right of the two left turn lanes, next to you. Past history has shown that everyone in traffic with me at this particular double-left turn on to the bypass, queues up sheep-like, into the far left lane and, anyway, I am usually up to the proper speed before I merge on to the bypass, thus ensuring that I will be out front and away from the herd.

I could sense you were in a rush; this probably was not your usual daily pace, and I had guessed that you might have been running late. When you crept forward a bit at the point where you assumed you would get the green left arrow, my suspicions were somewhat confirmed.

Let me explain to you that I am a more observant driver than most people. I know that the traffic light pattern at this particular intersection is not quite the norm. Not only does the sequence change during the day depending on whether it is "rush hour" or not, I also know when the oncoming traffic gets a red light so that we may then turn left at the green arrow. I know this because I can see the reflection of the oncoming traffic's signals shining off the back of the overhead route signs farther down the street. In fact, I have driven this route so often I can anticipate the green arrow seconds before it does indeed, turn green.

As I am forced to drive a car during the winter instead of my beloved motorcycle, I take a small measure of delight in driving faster than the posted limit. Actually, that's the case on the motorcycle as well. It gives me a small thrill, that feeling of passing moving pylons. The sense of forward movement, the excitement of violating a law, it makes this dark, wintry, morning commute something to savor.

Here I must state plainly to you, good sir, in your very fine hat, that it's nothing personal. It was not about you. It's NEVER about you. It's usually about ME. Sure you were probably upset that I had you at the green arrow. You're likely mad that I was ahead of you on the on-ramp. While I didn't anticipate that you would take such offense and stomp on your gas pedal to get ahead of me, predictably, as sheeple are wont to do, you veer to your left as soon as the on-ramp opens up to the bypass, when there is a perfectly good, LONG on-ramp left to use while you get up to speed. Normally, it's just the slow people doing that...merging into traffic at 45 miles an hour instead of getting up to the posted speed limit before getting in everyone's way.

As you fly past me, already in the right lane of the bypass, I take my time getting up to my usual 75 in what's left of the vast on-ramp. As I merge behind you, you no longer seem to want to be ahead of me. Not that this shocks me. I don't expect you to read my mind and understand that I will, in the long run, drive at a higher rate of speed than you overall. As I move closer and closer to your vehicle, it seems you were already upset with me. Again, I state, it's not about you. You are merely an obstacle to pass, as evidenced by your short-term sense of victory over passing me. It is clear that you are not going to man up and continue your hurried pace, and, as you decide to flash your brake lights at me, I change to the left lane.

I suppose it's all this motorcycling I've been doing that makes me feel set apart, but you, my dear sheeple, have fallen in to a pattern of driving that most others of the herd practice as well. I change lanes to pass you, you stomp on the gas (whoa! better not go faster than 74!), now flash your LEFT turn signals at me as I'm next to you, and proceed to flash your high beams at me once I am in front of you.

I continue on my merry way, cruising along at 75, and watch you recede in to the distance behind me.

Now I ask you...knowing that I have not chosen you as my adversary, that you and your funny-looking vehicle are insignificant in my quest for that little thrill, don't you feel a little like a douchebag?

Also? I win. Suck it, sizzlechest.