Relay: Life In The Fast Lane

I’m a fast driver and my husband can predict the weather. I should have been a racecar driver, and he could have chosen to be a meteorologist had he known it was a profession. His passion is something he can indulge in year round by studying the tides, the moon, wind direction, etc., while mine is stymied by the intrusion of way too many vehicles on the road at this time of year.

My need for speed can be frustrating when I can’t let loose on a long open highway, specifically the one that takes me to my home out near the Montauk Lighthouse. My inner road rage starts to fester when I get behind a car that’s either going very slow or one whose driver constantly steps on its brakes.

But I hold it in. I’m too polite to honk my horn or flip my middle finger at the driver. I’ve learned to be patient over the years, but I mainly hold it in because someone once reminded me that we’re all tourists when we travel and that we should treat tourists the way we would like to b treated in other places. I just wish that visiting drivers who are taking their time on the roads would pull over a bit to let pass the woman cursing at them from the confines of her Jeep behind them.

Sometimes sightseers can be a real problem, especially if you’re not on vacation and have an important appointment somewhere and you’re running late, as I was a few weeks ago on a trip to East Hampton. On a good day I can make it from the Point to East Hampton Village in 20 minutes. On a very bad, horrible day it can take up to 45 minutes, and that’s when the driver in front of me might notice that I’m talking to myself when in reality I’m cursing him out. It just feels good to let it out, even if he can’t hear me.

On that particular day I gave myself 30 minutes to get there. I was making great time until a Mercedes with New Jersey plates (I know, right?) pulled out in front of me from East Lake Drive and kept its speedometer at a steady 30 m.p.h. But you’re allowed to go 55 on that particular stretch, so that pissed me off.

As we got closer to the downtown area, the Mercedes slowed and so did I because the speed limit through the business district is 30 m.p.h. I was hoping the driver would turn off someplace, and actually got excited when the right blinker light went on for a turn toward the dock area. But as the car slowed, the passenger pointed out something farther west, and just as my bumper was ready to kiss their bumper, they decided to keep going straight, with me following close behind.

And so we drove 30 m.p.h. heading west onto the Napeague stretch right up until they saw the Lobster Roll restaurant and got all excited and the driver turned on the left blinker. They must have recognized the restaurant from Showtime’s “The Affair” and thought they might catch Alison and Noah making out behind the Dumpster in the parking lot.

I was so relieved that I could finally speed up, but was soon slowed again behind another car going about 40 m.p.h. This all happened while the road crews were repairing the highway, and, luckily for me, they had not yet painted the yellow stripes on the new road letting drivers know whether they were in a passing zone or not. If I got stopped for an illegal pass I’d have a Get Out of Jail Free card because the lines were not yet done.

I finally saw my chance to pass at the west end of the stretch and gunned it while saying aloud, “Sorry, buddy, we’re not all on vacation.” He must have been a really good lip reader because as I passed his car I glanced over and he flipped me the bird!

Did I mention that he too had New Jersey plates?

Janis Hewitt is a senior writer for The Star.