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About Just out. (Portland, OR) 1983-2013 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 4, 2000)
* f fabruary 4.2000 • J u l M C . 4 5 o — Road peevishness Riotographic !mage13aJlery Myth and Metaphor H ow I le a r n e d to sto p sp e e d in g a n d o b ey th e law- a n d go t a tic k e t a n y w a y ’m a turtle. I’m the kind of driver Alix Dobkin used to call “an old man in a hat driving a Chrysler product.” I’m the white- haired woman you don’t want to get behind when you have an appointment. Lover fears I go so slow I might cause accidents. I’m the type who brakes for yellow “suggested” speed signs because I don’t relish meeting a monster truck on a narrow curve with no where to go but imagined frothy waters at the bottom of a ravine. Last week I got a speeding tick et. If the young officer hadn’t been — |J apologetic to the point of obse quiousness, I might have done something rash— like cry. My first speeding ticket! My only ticket since the 70s, when I went through a toll booth I without pay- ing in a Bug — « r full of crazy dykes. (We thought it was revolutionary fun.) - r J This wasn’t fun. 1 was facing a BY 10-hour drive as part of my job, but LEE LYNCH I’d left enough time so that I could drive slowly over snowy mountains and along roads threatening landslides. The trip was so long because a land slide had plugged the north-south highway I normally drive. I metamorphosed into a con fused speed demon in the midst of a complex maneuver from one unfamiliar road to the next without the benefit of detour signs. This rout ing took me very briefly into the city’s 25 mph The Nude Show I bought my minivan for safety. Although the candy-apple red one my in-laws got made me froth with jealousy, I hadn’t wanted a vehi cle that would attract the eyes of the law. Everyone says cops go after red cars first. C on vertibles, SUVs, sports cars, luxury cars— they’re all supposed to get ticketed before tur tles in minivans. In my young and reckless years I raced across America , doing U-ies in unfamiliar ter ritory. Never got stopped. I sped wildly, hormone-fueled, along East Coast parkways in the dark of night to covert assignations. Never got stopped. Photographs by • Frank Yamrus • Jerry Uelsmann • Vincent Serbin Feb. 3 - Feb. 29 a is in i in ike PLAY SPONSOR ra b a n k ASON SPONSOR ktronix / ASON MEDIA SPONSOR ustrm fl Y\ LORRAINE HANSBERRY \ "Swarf Decades ago I ignored traffic and sub stance abuse laws simultaneously. Never got stopped. I’d run into New York from Connecticut, speeding along with the flow of traffic, which was more like the flow of a river at flood stage. Never got stopped. In my cab I rode the brakes from pickup to pickup, weaving in and out of traffic as if My first speeding ticket! My only ticket since the ’ 70 s , when I went through a toll booth without paying in a Bug full of crazy dykes. (We thought it was revolutionary fun.) speed limit. I was caught doing 40, desperately looking for directional signs. Here’s what I suspect. The cop had done something that annoyed his boss. He was assigned to drive the overpasses and underpass es on this little interchange again and again till he got dizzy. He was told to rack up enough speeding tickets to fill the whole squad’s quota for the month— and it was only the 14th. It was an easy enough assignment with all us bumpkins squinting to find our way through a comer of this town of 45,000. “He must have bagged bunches!” surmised a friend. I, of course, immediately decided the officer had pounced the minute he saw my Gore, food co- °P* animal protection, Human Rights Alliance, literacy, rainbow flag and Victory Fund stickers. Gn the other hand, it’s a university town, filled with kids in dreadlocks and soccer moms alike driving vans or minivans that sport “Question Authority” decals and Darwin magnets. The cop probably thought I was a middle-of-the- roader in comparison. other cars and people were nothing but a barrier between me and my next fare. No blinking lights ever shone in my rearview mirror. As a commuter I concentrated only on making up for that extra time I’d spent in bed and drove as if I had a siren atop my car. But so did everyone else. To me, New York City was one gigantic dodge-’em-car amusement park ride, the hills of New England free roller coasters. I guess my lawlessness finally caught up with me. A ticket, though. Now, when I’m old enough to understand that I’m not immortal and that traffic laws actually protect me, now I feel like a criminal. When I really, really flout ed the law, I felt only rebellious. I’m lucky to be alive. My next bumper sticker is going to read, on a background of rainbow stripes, “I Brake for Turtles." ■ LEE LYNCH is a novelist who lives on the Oregon coast and obeys the law 99 percent of the time. ■For me, Raisin is still fresh, it's still relevant. a visionary. - “Spike Lee, Filmmaker "A classic. A play rooted in its own time that speaks through the years to our ow n... - Chicago Tribune JANUARY 11 - FEBRUARY 20, 2000 1516 SW Alder Street www.artistsrep.org FOR TICKETS CALL: 503/241-1ART A RTISTS REPERTORY THEATRE
