*
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
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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...
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