and expressways, 15 miles an hour or so above the speed limit, passing slower vehicles with disdain, and keeping a wary eye open for patrol cars. I liked to think I owned the left lane.
As much as I hated being confined behind other vehicles, I especially hated being passed. Often, when that would happen, I’d increase my speed and close the gap behind the offender. I wouldn’t tailgate or deliberately provoke anyone, but I would begin to play an imaginary game of tag. The other vehicle became my target, and I’d make it my goal to overtake it and put it far behind in my rearview mirror.
I never worried about the dangers, because I always believed I could react quickly enough to avoid trouble.
So it was, that rainy afternoon in heavy traffic. I had begun a challenge on the Turnpike some miles back with a Pontiac Firebird. It passed me, so I caught and passed it. It passed me again and I maneuvered back and forth between the lanes and overtook it. Within a short time our unofficial dueling became more and more daring—because the other driver had joined the game. We drove faster and faster, snaking through the traffic. It had become a clear case of two adults acting increasingly stupid and juvenile—dangerously so.
That’s when a rush of cold and serious thoughts finally entered my stubborn head.
I can’t say I experienced some sort of epiphany, or that I narrowly escaped a disastrous situation that terrified me into reforming. It wasn’t so dramatic. I simply and painfully became confronted with a strong sense of my own foolishness. At that moment I realized my opponent and I were endangering everyone around us for no good reason. Worse, we were depending on the consistency and predictability of the very people we were endangering. If anyone nearby had made a sudden, unexpected stop or move, there was no way either of us could have avoided a collision.
For once, my sense of overconfidence evaporated. At last I grasped that I was traveling too fast to react, within a convoy of dense traffic, along a stretch of road with narrow shoulders, atop wet pavement. The other driver and I had created a situation that left no room for error. The slightest mistake could have resulted in a terrible crash that would have been both our faults and—assuming we survived—haunted us for the rest of our lives.
Maybe it was an epiphany, because it caused me to do something rare up to that point: I eased back on the gas pedal, dropped my speed, and slipped into the general traffic flow. The Firebird quickly disappeared ahead. Game over.
The remainder of the trip, back to my home in Northern Virginia, outside Washington, D.C., I stayed under the speed limit. I also kept thinking about what had occurred. It really troubled me. I felt ashamed of myself. I’m a nice guy, I thought. I wouldn’t try to harm anyone deliberately. What’s wrong with me? What was so important about staying ahead of that other driver, and why did I push myself so close to the edge? How could I possibly have lived with myself if I had caused an injury or death?
My search for answers was the start of my conversion. I began to understand that I couldn’t tolerate such immature behavior in myself any longer. I had escaped the worst, but only by sheer good fortune. Now it would be up to me to stay out of trouble. So I resolved to avoid doing such stupid things again.
On the whole, I’ve kept that promise to myself. I’ve come to realize that being smart about driving is a lot better than being lucky. I’ve also spent a great deal of time observing—and thinking and writing about—the ways we behave behind the wheel. The process has allowed me to develop a different style of driving, one I am convinced can keep everyone safer on the road.
Now for the disclosure:
I have selfish reasons for writing this book. I worry about my loved ones and friends when they’re out on the highways. I worry about their safety all the time, because our highways are harsh and dangerous places. I figure if there’s anything I can do to make things safer for everyone, then I can help protect the people I care most about. And if I can persuade you to think the same way, then maybe fewer people will have to suffer the tragedies that infect our highways so thoroughly.
As you read further, keep that possibility in mind.
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