The Pike that Cast the Stone

Okay, I can deal with a little road maintenance every once in a while. I am quite adept at swirving around the six foot deep holes that any sane driver must avoid on a trip to Chelsea for some rockin’ Rileys Roast Beef (dog shit). So when the Mass Pike says Left Lane Closed I hardly blink… I turn up 103.3 a little louder, even if its just Sonny and Cher, and knuckle up. I am the Left Lane.

But what happened on my drive back from a family visit to CT the other night was just plain ridiculous. The highway DID have a couple of glowing yellow electronic signs flashing Left Lane Closed, sure it did… but notice the singular use of Lane. So I, being the embodiment of the Left Lane much as Lord Krishna IS Divine Love, mosey on down to see where the sidewalk ends, as Shel Silverstein encouraged me to do as a child. Well, about twenty seconds after the second electronic notice, the Mass Pike bottlenecked from FOUR LANES down to one…. single lane….! Sonny and Cher had hit a crescendo and I had become lost in it… but the sight of four lanes of cars merging down to one in an insane tributary of red lights and screeching brakes jarred me from my, “Don’t Go Breakin’ My Heart” reverie into a “Don’t Go Breakin’ My Car” panic! I slammed on the brakes and switched off the radio. Okay, I thought, that ain’t right, but this is the main Masshole Artery… I put up and merged…

Bit farther down a wooden handpainted sign gave notice that the Breakdown Lane was available for feisty persons displaced from speed, so I turned into that, rolled down the window and lit up a cigarette… figured I’d chill out and pass 50 or so stupid drivers that can’t read signs… I’m cruising, everything is fine… and then my car starts to vibrate dangerously! I inhale some smoke from a cigarette as I’m passing trucks vans and SUVs thinking, “Haha, suckas….”, when a frikkin’ ROCK throttles in through the open window and KONKS me in the temple! Godamnit! I was stoned!

There are some serious deep grooves in the pavement of that breakdown lane, and I ain’t talking about Sonny Bono and Cher.

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