Traffic was creeping along on the highway this morning during my drive to work. A mile from my usual turnoff I decided to play the frontage road game. The game is simple: pick a highway traffic marker, something large and easy to keep track of -- a moving van or a bus or a semi -- and then beat the marker by traveling along the frontage road instead.
The game owes more to luck than skill. The off ramp to the frontage road leads to a stoplight at a busy intersection. If my timing is off, I can lose a whole minute to a red light. And if the highway competition speeds up to 30 mph during that minute, I'm a hopeless half mile behind and the game is lost. However, if I happen to catch a green light and shoot the intersection, I can cruise along the frontage road at 45 mph and usually win.
Today my luck was average: the stoplight was already red as I came down the off ramp; I got nicked for ten or fifteen seconds. The light turned, my Volvo surged forward. My marker, a white moving van, was still creeping along at no more than 15 mph. And better yet, I saw a lot of red brakelights on the cars farther up the highway. My confidence was rising. I pulled hard around a bend and then sped up on the straightaway.
At this point in the game I tend to improve upon the speed limit slightly. What sportsman doesn't try to get an edge in the heat of competition? But I glanced to my right and discovered that I was looking down the barrel of a radar gun held by a motorcycle cop. And my speedometer needle was well over 45 on this 40-mph frontage road. My goose was cooked. I hit my brakes, giving up the game.
Time froze. During a long moment I observed the cop's facial expression beneath his dark sunglasses. He sized me up, wrinkled his nose, and then looked back up the frontage road. All that I could conclude was that he didn't want to give me a speeding ticket and have me show up in court with a picture of my old Volvo and tell the judge, "Your honor, look at this car. Does this really look like a car that can go more than 40 miles per hour?"
