You see, I live in rural Arkansas. Our biggest problems with traffic out here are the 90-year-old neighbor that can't see over her dashboard and the dreaded "52-mile-an-hour" club. Christian is really the one who dreads these people the most. To be a member of this club, you must never drive the posted 55 mph speed limit, but at least 3 mph below it. At least. While Christian is zipping around the hills trying to get to work on time, he never fails to run across a farmer or other member of this club. I feel for my husband. He has my sympathy. Then I take my weekly drive to the grocery store or to church and only realize that I'm only going 52 when some little car comes zooming up behind me. Although since the truck doesn't have a rearview mirror, it usually takes me a while to notice them. Then I pray that Christian never hears about the fact that I am, on occasion, a member of this club.
About a month ago I was on a rare night out with my sister and I drove us home from a friend's house. It was only then that I realized it had probably been weeks, if not months, since I had actually driven on the Interstate. Sure, I'd ridden in the car while Christian drove, but even that was only for 15 miles while getting to my sister's house. My sister laughed at me (she does that all the time, so I'm kind of used to it) while I tried to be hyper-aware of all the cars whizzing by me. And while my nighttime drive was only for 10 miles on a pretty tame Interstate, it was still nerve wracking.
Now, before all you city people start laughing hysterically at me like the rest of my family, I would like to point out that I am quite capable of navigating the dirt roads in the mountains between our house and my dad's. I'd like to throw a few city people out there and see if you can find your way out, even with your Garmins. I am also quite willing to drive the Pig Trail, Hwy 23 between Ozark and Huntsville, in order to see my grandparents and mother. As long as there's no ice or snow in the forecast, anyways. It runs through the highest points of the Ozark Mountains (which never get above 3000 ft above sea level, so I don't know how they're called mountains, but that's for another post). There are 6 miles of "steep and sharp turns" that portray the gorgeous scenery around you. It's also had a number of mud slides and cave-ins lately. It's one of my favorite drives ever. Driving through mountain passes: check.
Then we took a 600-mile trip to Texas this past weekend. Talk about an act of faith. I realized there are quite a few different variations of traffic and driving experiences (duh), and that in the three years since moving out to the sticks, I've gotten used to the driving habits of my laid back neighbors.
First, there was the Interstate. I'm sure if I was driving, the distance between our car and the car in front of us would have been fine. But Christian was driving, and I really didn't like him getting that close to the 18-wheelers. Or using his cruise control around those curves. I don't like cruise control in general. Those are for those flat places, where the road goes straight on so far in front of you that it meets the horizon.
Next came the Ouachita Mountain passes. This actually was a bit silly of me to get nervous about, seeing as how the road conditions in Oklahoma are 10 times better than in Arkansas, and that the steep turns were nothing compared to the Pig Trail. But again, Christian was driving and I was sure he shouldn't be going down that turn so fast, or passing that car with so little room.
The next few hundred miles were good. Not only had we entered Texas, where the sky immediately becomes huge and enveloping, welcoming me "home" with open arms, but the road we were taking went through all the little country towns I'm so used to.
Then we hit the outskirts of Houston. As in 4th largest city in America, Houston. I am thankful Christian drove this part, because my hands start sweating just thinking about the tiny gap between the concrete barrier on your left, the 18-wheeler on your right, and the requirement to go at least 70 mph through it. Even at that speed you're likely to get tailgated or flipped the bird.
Heavy downtown Houston traffic is different than even the traffic on the outskirts of Houston. You have to really know your way, because trying to cross four lanes of traffic to reach your exit takes skill. Which I have apparently lost. Cars fit into gaps that you never would have dreamed. Everyone is trying to reach their homes in Suburbia as fast as they can, which means getting ahead of every single person in front of them, in whatever way they can. And in Texas, there are loads of huge trucks that bully their way into those small gaps. Don't get me started on people who drive Dodge Rams.
I felt so silly. I used to be the one zipping in and out of traffic at such close proximities. It's almost like dancing, with the exhaust fumes being your partner's bad breath, trying to weave in and out of the other couples dancing around you.
I'd like to say I was better on the way back, but I wasn't. The weather was bad. Thank God Christian is an excellent driver. I don't even know how the last 2 hours of the drive went, seeing as I was sitting with Silas in the backseat, refusing to look and reminding myself that I believe in a Sovereign God.
After my time spent in Arkansas, it would take me a while to be able to drive through Houston without my blood pressure sky rocketing. But it also took me a while to navigate those back country roads, and even longer to brave the Pig Trail all by myself.
I'm a member of the 52 mph club too.
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