Whoa

Every driving season I reach a point where I know I've crossed the line. I catch myself driving faster, taking risks, getting impatient, trying to cram one more thing into the schedule. Or maybe I'm just trying to make up for a late start. In any case I start to drive like a normal person instead of a sane, considerate one.

I've been lucky so far. No one's gotten hurt, although I'm sure some have gotten pissed off. If someone drove like me around me I'd want to see them upside-down in flames around the next bend. When I catch myself going too far I slink off to a quiet corner to reflect on my sinful nature and emerge with a renewed vow not to let myself be a dick. It usually holds up for about a year. Then I hit the dead-ass middle of driving season again, when I'm about fed up and still months from relief, and I slip to the dark side again.

The answer, of course, is a zen-like detachment from desire. Or, in other words, "chill the f*** out, dude." Accept whatever rolling road block has been cast before me. Forget that in biking season it would all roll past me while I continued at my best pace unhindered...and un-tailgated. Because the flip side of being stuck behind a blockade of meandering boneheads or old farts is being the meandering bonehead or old fart. But on the bike I keep my human flotsam mostly out of the way on the parts where someone could reasonably drive fast.

Daylight Relocating Time kicks in on March 9. That's just over a month away. The weather may not cooperate, but if it does, that date marks the beginning of bike commuting opportunities in my particular schedule. That brings its own challenges, but at least it gets me out of the car. If we're still getting wintry precipitation I won't be able to charge right out there. And it's always a good idea to cultivate mental discipline. No matter what happens, self control is vital.

Chill the f*** out, dude.