10.08.2006

Hi Y'all!

It's official, my Boston identity is gone from the Boston Crazy Driving reconnaissance vehicle. The Red Sox license plates have been replaced with general-issue NC tags. The MA window sticker was scraped off and replaced on the driver's side with an NC one.

The difference struck Mrs. Boston Crazy Driving when she and Boston Crazy Driving fils came to visit last weekend. As one quick aside, I went to pick her up at the airport, had to pay a whole dollar to park, and could only park three rows from the door. Tough. Sadly, there were no poorly constructed, closed tunnel connectors to bypass. There wasn't even any traffic? What's a Boston-bred driver to do without a hassle getting to the airport?

Actually, the driving habits have been a bit of an adjustment for me. See, the surface roads are built to handle the traffic. Most of the main roads are two lanes in each direction with a turn lane in the center. The intersections have turning lanes for right and left turns, sometimes two each. I can hardly think of a time when (other than because of an accident) it has taken me more than one cycle to get through a traffic light -- even during rush hour.

On the rare occasion when I do get cut off or passed aggressively, I can usually spot a Red Sox, Patriots, Yankees, Giants or Jets logo on the car. It's uncanny, actually, that I can find it on such cars so frequently.

People down here actually stop at the stop line painted on the road. They stop BEFORE making a right on red. They honor the lane markings painted on the roadways.

It is so refreshing because I started this blog as an outlet for my road aggression. It was my Zen to counteract the maddening experiences I encountered every day on Boston-area roads. I knew I could breath deeply and go home and post my frustrations rather than drive aggressively.

My life has gotten better since I moved down here, and one palpable way is that I don't have to drive like I'm a boxer in a championship match. It is such a relief to just enjoy my ride to work.

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