Flotsam & Jetsam | Distracted Driving on Horseshoe Highway

— a semi-regular humor column by Maurice Austin —

It would be a relief if Washington State motorists heralded the recent distracted driving legislation as a boon to automotive centeredness, to a renewed focus on operator responsibility for plunging a 2,000-pound shell of steel and plastic and aluminum at break-neck speeds along our state’s, our island’s humble highways. From my perspective, precisely jack bunko has changed, however, sheesh.

Not that I’d call out the exact motorists that CROSSED THE CENTER LINE at me in the past week, phone visible in hand, COMPANY LOGO CLEARLY DISPLAYED on the side of your ride, sheesh Aeronautical Services, not that I’d say, but sheesh. Dude, I put my starboard wheels into the shoulder grass for you!

Worse is perhaps following an other-wise engaged motorist who swerves into the grass, or into the opposing lane AND OPPOSING TRAFFIC and that one-one thousand, two-one thousand rule gets up there into the teens, because this guy? He’s gonna hit something sooner or later, and really I’d rather not get involved, bumper-wise or insurance company-wise. Look out, deer!

Thing is, we’re so hung up on our instantaneous-communication devices that we’ve forgotten about the instantaneousness of things like physics. Or the human capability of vision. We convince ourselves that we can see both the road and the cellphone at the same time, that we can shave or pluck nose hairs or apply mascara or read the user-agreement of the latest online app and simultaneously navigate the “accept terms” button and maintain 40mph on a partially shade-filtered curvy segment of rural roadway when in reality, we can’t. We’re all over that roadway. We’ve accepted terms we’re no wiser about than if a Mack truck hit us right upside the front-left-quarter-panel because its operator was trying to accept the terms to Amazon’s latest whatever.

I get that eating while driving is somewhat a necessity if on a long road trip, and I get that personal grooming might trim valuable minutes off a morning commute, but neither really seems relevant on Orcas, where fast food isn’t and personal grooming seemingly occurs on a monthly, rather than daily basis. Granted, however, the lack of drive-through espresso stands might necessitate the onboard grinding, perking, measuring, and milk-foaming from your 12-volt onboard automotive espresso-maker—surely a necessity, on this our what-do-you-mean-I-have-to-get-out-of-my-vehicle-for-a-mocha isle.

Besides grooming and eating habits, however, the distraction of onboard audio systems warrants enough alarm as to cause concern. Once the NPR signal fades under the power lines there at the turnoff to Island Hardware, I instinctively punch those tiny little preset buttons on the stereo, hoping for a tune to glide me in along that curvy piece of 40-mph road where, it seems, NPR is out of range but talk-radio stupidity abounds on the stations that occasionally play music but really it’s advertisements and call-in banter of the sort that makes smashing headlong into a tree or a deer placidly munching on the shoulder seem like a relief.

Other roads are worse, radio-reception-wise, and distraction-wise. But what are we to do, when putt-putting down Raccoon Point road, other than try to steal a glimpse of that jaw-dropping view? Who has not driven by Cascade Lake and cast their eyes over the water? Hopefully, the cast was short, and did not re-direct to the cellphone on your lap, but rather to the road, particularly this time of year, shoulder packed with walkers and kids on bicycles toting fishing rods and campers crossing willy-nilly. We’re to what—fill in the pristine valleys? Lop off the promontories? Pave it all flat in the name of anti-distraction?

Driving down I-5 reveals another absurdity of distractiveness, and maybe spell-check should get up off its hind-quarters and recognize ‘distractiveness’ as the real thing it is rather than offering to replace it with ‘destructiveness’ sheesh. Those enormous lit billboards, digitally splashing active advertisements as eye-catchingly as they can, not all on tribal land, seem on some common-sense level afoul of any sort of “distracted driving” legislation that might make common sense, not of course that I would accuse the state legislature of anything amounting to common sense.

Luckily, on our quaint isle, billboards are rather absent, excepting the occasional garage-sale sign penned in ball-point on a scrap of cardboard, or little stand-up billboards announcing something that, at 30 feet away and at 35 miles per hour, could either be a spelling bee or a softball tournament. Hard to tell. Mind you: either way, not supposed to look.

Of course, much distracted driving occurs not from the condition of the intentional advertising or natural landscape, but from the condition of the vehicle being operated. Even a few little drops of rain can cause a month’s worth of pollen and dust and tree sap to distort windshield perspectives, particularly when motoring along narrow, blind-corner, filtered-shade roads. Put down that iPhone, wouldja? And get with the Windex program, sheesh, yer bug-masher is about as transparent as a Republican-sponsored health-care bill.

One thing’s for sure: we’re stuck here along this skinny little tarmac of life together—eh?—let’s watch out for each other, eh? Heaven knows the deer could give a flying flank….