The other day I was driving to work on a highway near our home. The road shares a name with a ski hill located a bit farther south, and it also rhymes with Breakridge, which is what the local ER has been known to affectionately call the ski place. But I digress
It was early, about 6:30 a.m., and it was dark, but the road was clear and dry. Although the posted speed is 80 clicks, 100 km seems to be generally accepted and that’s what our little train was doing — a nice, orderly procession of commuters.
I was the last car in line with nothing but darkness behind me but moment later, just as we were rounding a long curve, there were lights right on my bumper. Unbelieveably, the car sped up and passed me. I eased off the gas so there’d be room to pull in, but Ding-dong kept going and passed the next car too.
Oncoming traffic prevented him from passing again, but that didn’t stop him from tailgating, as though pressing ahead would speed up the herd. When the opposite lane became free, we were climbing a long hill and I, quite literally, held my breath as our friend passed the remaining four cars, finally pulling in as he crested the hill.
I know you all have your own stories about your own Ding-dongs and you’re welcome to vent if you want. It upsets me that this kind of premeditated risk-taking can turn out so wrong, so quickly, and it seems that the perpetrator is seldom the one that takes the biggest hit — no pun intended.
Just for the record, we all pulled up behind Ding-dong at the next light. Way to go, Buddy!