Date:          May 2004
Title:         High Wire Traffic Artist
Author:        Jeroen Verbeek, Copyright (C) 2004. All rights reserved.

Summary:       Trapped in the middle of a seven-lane motorway, I  have to 
               cut my way through the wall of traffic.

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High Wire Traffic Artist


I didn't know how I got there, but I was on a small concrete island in 
heavy traffic, wearing one of those bright orange vests with a fluorescent 
yellow X on the back. Cars whizzed by from both sides, jamming every open 
space. It sounded like there was a stampede of wild animals! The noise was 
deafening and the ground shook with every passing vehicle.
     Fear and anger pulsed through my veins as cars whizzed past me within 
inches at closing speeds greater than 120mph. Other cars were pulling out 
in front of me, next to me and from behind. All driven by mindless Sunday 
drivers that had taken but only a few hours of instruction.
     I realized that I was trapped. I was trapped in the middle of a 
seven-lane motorway by hundreds of cars flashing by. They pinned me to the 
concrete floor, blowing their horns violently with every movement I made. 
They told me I should never flinch or show no fear -- even when the cars 
came close enough to knock me over. Then I asked myself if I would be 
caught forever in this traffic madness.

People driving cars only seem to pay attention to other cars and trucks. 
Therefore they ignored my plaintive outstretched thumb and just tore down 
the road at full speed. But in one way or another I had to cut through the 
wall of traffic. Finally, after what seemed like an age, a gap opened and I 
nestled between two lorries on the inside traveling sedately like 
mechanical whales. Slowly I crawled along the lane. It was kind of like a 
tightrope walker on a high wire that had to shift his weight back and forth 
to maintain perfect balance. I saw no centerlines or dividers, no lane 
control signals, no pavement markings, just signs... and very few of them. 
I wanted to switch lanes, but I couldn't do this easily. There was no merge 
area and no warning sign to tell me the adjacent lane was an active lane 
during rush hour! 
     Finally I'd gathered enough courage to cross over. I wavered, trying 
to keep my balance as I stepped forward on the black asphalt. I knew one of 
the keys to not getting hit was to be visible. This not only meant wearing 
bright clothing but also positioning yourself on the road in such a way as 
to allow other car drivers to see you. After all, riding to the extreme 
right made you blend with the rushing scenery. It also put you in the 
position of having to constantly move back towards the center of the road 
to avoid debris, storm grates, parked cars and open car doors. It made 
absolutely more sense to ride more in the lane of traffic, making you part 
of it.

Winds came from everywhere, unpredictable gusts, nearly bowling me over. 
They tested and prodded me, then attacked me as I proceeded down the 
outside lane. I walked slowly, holding the balancing pole in front of me 
and trying desperately not to look sideways.
     A sigh of relief! I'd reached the inside lane, and rested for a 
moment. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath before facing the highway 
again. Cars came by at a normal rate now, and my eyes scanned the queue in 
an attempt to weave between the moving obstacles. This time I told myself 
to accelerate earlier in order to filter in more smoothly. It worked out 
pretty well. I overtook a couple of caravan drivers, but suddenly some 
blind clown pulled in with absolutely no heed for danger. Brake lights 
flared brightly in front of me. It was too late for me to change direction! 
I slammed on my brakes, knowing I was going to be in a severe car crash. My 
heart skipped a beat, and out of control I prepared myself for the impact. 
Covering my face with both my hands, everything went into slow motion. 
     The smell of burning rubber and the squealing of tires pierced my 
senses. First I heard metal hitting each other. Then I fell hard on the 
hood, rolled back to the windshield and then bounced back to the hood 
again. The next moment I found myself untouched sitting on the left hand 
shoulder of the lane, whispering, "A dream. Just an awful, awful dream..."

(I really had to pass my driver test first thing in the morning!)



The End



----- This work is copyright (C) Jeroen Verbeek, 2004, all rights reserved -----