Five Powerful Reasons to Drive Slower, and How to Do It
I drive slower these days. While I used to be a bit of a driving
maniac (ask my wife), passing everybody and stepping hard on my
accelerator, I would also get increasingly frustrated when people would
drive slow and keep me from driving fast, or cut me off. Driving was a
stressful experience. Not anymore. These days, driving is a much more calm, serene experience, and I enjoy it much more. I look around at other drivers and wonder whether they really need to
get to where they’re going so fast, and whether they’ll slow down when
they get there. I wonder if it’s really worth burning all that gas and
getting so angry and risking so many lives. And then I think about other
things, because driving for me has become a time of contemplation.
I heartily recommend driving slower — for many reasons, but one of the best reasons is that it has made me a much happier person. It’s such a simple step to take, but it makes an incredibly big difference. Recently a reader named Vadim wrote to me with the following comment on speeding:
I have recently acquired a TomTom GPS in car navigator.
Amongst its many astonishing features, it has a display on it that shows
you your estimated arrival time for the route you are traveling … Now
here is the kicker; I used to routinely travel at 130% of the speed
limit everywhere … I thought that I was keeping myself alert and saving
time. My TomTom, however, disagreed. In fact anywhere I traveled (and I
routinely drive more than 100
miles) I would only shave off 5-10 minutes of the estimated arrival
time! 5-10minuts of time that is then wasted because I wasn’t late to
start off with! Since then, I adopted a new way of driving, I never speed.
I love this comment, and it inspired me to write this post. People
often think they’re saving time by driving faster, but it’s not very
much time, and it’s not worth your sanity or safety. Here are just 5 reasons to drive slower:
Save gas. The best ways to save gas (besides
driving less or driving a fuel-efficient vehicle) are to avoid excessive
idling, more gradual accelerating and decelerating, and driving slower
(see report on Edmunds.com). With gas prices so high these days, wasting gas by driving unnecessarily fast is something we can’t afford.
Save lives. Driving fast can kill people (including
the driver). Two stats: Traffic is the biggest single killer of 12-16
year olds. Surprisingly, at 35mph you are twice as likely to kill
someone you hit as at 30mph. (Source)
Faster driving gives you a shorter amount of time to respond to
something in your path, and even a fraction of a second can mean the
difference between life and death. Drive slower for your safety and that
of those around you … especially drive slow around runners, cyclists,
schools, and neighborhoods with kids on the streets.
Save time?As Vadim pointed out in his email, while
you think you’re saving time by driving faster, it’s not a lot of time.
And that small amount of time you’re saving isn’t worth it, considering
the other factors on this list. Better yet, start out a few minutes
early and you’ll arrive at the same time as someone who drove faster but
started later, and you’ll arrive much happier than that person to boot.
Save your sanity. The above three reasons are very
important ones, but for me the most noticeable difference has been the
huge drop in stress levels when I drive. Far from being a crazy
experience, driving is actually a relaxing and pleasant experience now. I
no longer get road rage, because I simply don’t care whether other
drivers are going slow or cutting me off.
Simplify your life. This is related to the one
above, but expanded. In addition to saving your stress levels, driving
slower can reduce many other complications as well — the headache of
accidents and speeding tickets, for one, going to the gas station too
often, for another, but also the hectic pace of life. Why must we rush
through life? Slow down and enjoy life more. If we’re always in a hurry
to get places, when will we get to our destination and finally be happy?
Life is a journey — make it a pleasant one.
OK, assuming that you want to drive slower, here are some of the tips that worked best for me:
Ignore other drivers. This was my problem before. I
cared so much about what the other drivers were doing, that it would
stress me out. At times, it would cause me to drive faster to spite
other drivers (awful, I know). Now, I just ignore them. Well, I pay
attention so I don’t crash into anyone, but I don’t worry about what
they’re doing or how dumb they are.
Leave early. If you speed because you’re running
late, make it a habit of getting ready early and leaving early. Now you
don’t have to worry about being late, and you can enjoy the ride.
Brainstorm. I like to use my drive time for
contemplation. I come up with ideas for things to write about, I think
about my day (either the day to come or the day in review), I think
about my life as a whole and where I want to go.
Keep to the right. If you drive slower than the
other crazy drivers out there, it’s wise to keep out of their way if
possible and keep to the right. While I tend to ignore other drivers who
might get mad at me for driving slow (I don’t care about them anymore),
it’s good to be polite.
Enjoy the drive. Most of all, make your drive a
pleasant experience — whether that’s through music or contemplation or
however you want to enjoy the ride, remember that the ride is just as
important as the destination.
Tell someone about your bus trip and stand back. The Question is on
its way. "Why would you do it?" they will ask. Why would you ride on
Greyhound instead of driving -- or grabbing a train or plane? A friend and I found out a few winters ago that we each had a week to
go somewhere and where we really wanted to go was L.A. We were sick of
security lines and cramped flights, and with gas prices reaching record
levels, neither of us was up for a marathon drive. What about the bus? we thought, poring over maps and
schedules and making little puffs of mental exhaust. Like the people we
told about our trip, we weren't sure if we could hack a four-day ride
from D.C. to the West Coast. Still, the plan was to pick up seven-day
Ameripasses that let you get off and back on whenever you want and give
the thing a try for the sake of adventure. Although my friend was 73 years old and had never been west of
Pennsylvania, we would aim south for warm weather, we'd try to set foot
in Mexico and hope to get a quick glimpse of the Grand Canyon (which we
had never seen). And we wouldn't come back until we had answered The Question once and for all.
***
Day Three: Little Rock, AR to El Paso, TX
Little Rock boasts surprisingly tall downtown towers and strange
looking semi-tropical trees that are spring green even though it's
February. There's no soap in the bus station men's room, and the fast
food restaurant we go into is out of it too. Could it be that people use
water only to wash up with in this town? Back on the bus, Judy grabs me a handful of the moist towelettes,
though I find that most of them are bone dry inside the foil wrapper.
I'm getting worried about her. She keeps pointing out what she tells me
are "rivers" but when I turn and look, I can see only fields and dust. I
don't know whether these are actual mirages, but it does seem, at
times, as if we are crossing the country by camel. Our sense of distance
is intimate. We get to know every mile, and measure our progress bounce
by bounce. Dallas in the dark looks like an out-of-control corporate park:
Buildings have weird neon outlines, the streetlights are embedded in
slabs and flagpoles narrow sharply toward the top, like fresh pencils.
Greyhound company headquarters are here, but the bus station, itself, is
confusing and extremely small. As we wait in line trying to squeeze
onto our 6 a.m. bus, the baggage guy cracks, "I'd wait 'til the 8:30 if I
was you." I'm wondering if I detect a smirk, since the bus door has
just slammed shut. More trouble: When I try to get a printout for buses between El Paso
and Flagstaff, AZ, the machine spits out pages of nonsense numbers,
mathematical symbols and black squares. "That's because Greyhound
doesn't go there," explains the clerk, but when I protest that
Flagstaff's a big town, she gives me a look, and says to "spell the name
of it, and slowly." We try again, getting some info this time, and Judy
and I are on our way. The landscape west of Ft. Worth is like a safari theme park where the
animals refuse to come near. If you look carefully you can see specks
along the horizon, and sometimes groups of specks that Judy says have to
be herds. Abilene is a much more close-up surprise. It has the widest
streets in Texas and its buildings are colorful square blocks of brick
that look mysterious since there's hardly a soul in town. When we get near Midland, the bus driver tells us to look left, and
fingers are pointing as we roar past a family of prairie dogs sitting up
by the side of the road. Wildlife at last. Day Four: El Paso, TX to Flagstaff, AZ The lights of El Paso are spread out in front of the bus, and since
it's "The Star City," we're welcomed by a cheerful, electrically-powered
starfish set up on a hill overlooking town. Judy and I are busy trying
to figure out how we can get over the border to Ciudad Juarez, Mexico,
before our bus to Flagstaff the next afternoon. Since our motel is on the city's outskirts, there's only one
solution: Bob's Cab. The plan is this: Bob will come to our motel in the
morning and drive us to the downtown border bridge. We'll walk across,
eat a fresh corn tamale in Juarez and, an hour later, cross back over.
There, Bob will be waiting to drive us back to the motel, grab the bags
and floor it to the bus station. Amazingly, this works pretty much as planned. It costs 25 cents (or
three pesos) to enter Mexico, and suddenly we're in a world of
handpainted signs for "Cerveza," music surging out of grocery stores and
small cafes and vendors yelling at us to take a look at hats and
leather wallets and limes stuffed fat with shredded coconut. It isn't easy to just get a bite of all this and go back, and Judy
keeps fingering woven tote bags and stretchy, beaded belts as if they
will help her hang on here for just a few seconds longer. I buy a
Mexican soda, and when the can of papaya fizz runs low, I know we have
to go fast to the passport line on the Mexican side of the bridge and to
our idling cab. We make the bus just as the driver is ripping tickets and are
surprised to find that a fellow passenger, Eddie Arcaro, has saved us a
place in line. "All that I own is in this," he chuckles, hefting a
string bag that you can see is layered with expertly folded white
T-shirts and a Bible on top. Arcaro is on his way home from a year in
the Colorado state penitentiary. But as we get into New Mexico during
our ride, he's one of the few who is impressed with the red and purple,
Road Runner-style scenery. "Mesas," he keeps telling Judy. "Wait until
you see the mesas." Day Five: Flagstaff, AZ to Los Angeles, CA After we get off in Flagstaff, Judy and I talk to cab drivers about
getting a ride to the Grand Canyon, which, according to our map, is
about 80 miles from here. One guy just shakes his head. The other tells
us he'd be willing to go with us if we'll pay him $250 up front. Since it's one of our biggest goals for the trip we're on the verge
of agreeing, when I spot a van with "Keyah Hozhoni Tours" painted on the
side. The driver, a Navajo Indian named Vince, will take us there and
back for 50 bucks apiece -- and fill us in on local history and
geography as we ride. It's a deal, and as it turns out, Vince is loaded with information on
what we pass, including a police car that he says has a "cardboard
decoy cop" inside. When we get close to the Canyon, I ask him what kind
of animals we should watch out for. "Scorpions, rattlesnakes and
kingsnakes," says Vince, letting us out near the Rim Trail at Bright
Angel Lodge. "Almost forgot," he adds. "You might also catch a coral
snake or a tarantula." Judy and I keep one eye on our shoes as we walk to the edge, and
suddenly there it is: a horizon-swallowing jagged copper bowl that is
too wide to be photographable, too intricate for art. At this second,
every knee-crunching minute of our trip feels worthwhile. You could ride
a year's worth of buses to get here, I think, and drive them all over
the edge so you wouldn't have to go back.
***
We're getting near the end of our trip, changing buses in Phoenix at 5
a.m. for the final leg to LA. I doze on and off until around eight
o'clock when we pull into a last-gas McDonald's buffeted by blowing dust
and desert sand. "Blythe, CA," announces the driver, and although it's a
rest stop and Judy gets off for coffee, I don't want any and slump back
to sleep. Next thing I know, I'm woken up by a revving engine. The bus is
heeling around a curve and roaring toward a highway ramp. Something
feels wrong -- I've got much too much room for one thing -- and then it
hits me. Judy's not on board. "Hey, wait," I yell to the driver. "We're
leaving someone behind!" No response. "Stop, will you? Can I run back and get my friend. Can I get off?" By now I'm up past the yellow line in front, exaggerating the fact
that Judy is an elderly passenger and hearing only mumblings from the
driver that include the phrase, "got to keep on schedule." Some of the
other passengers are angry, too, since everyone was caught off guard,
and I collect some names and phone numbers for what they're worth.
Someone lends me their cell phone and I dial the number on my Ameripass,
but all Greyhound suggests is that Judy keep her eye out for a bus due
into Blythe later on that afternoon. It's been five long days. We've been to Tennessee, Texas, Mexico, the
South Rim of the Grand Canyon and dozens of beaten-up, midnight
Greyhound bus stations scattered along the way. I have made it from DC
to LA, where it's 89 degrees, bustling and hazy, and Judy from DC to a
fast food restaurant in a town I do not know how to spell. Hours later, I meet a dust-coated bus from Blythe and there is Judy,
sunburned and exhausted from pacing around in parking lots and watching
birds. "Greyhound has made it up to you," is the first thing I say,
handing over a certificate entitling her to a free entree and a medium
beverage at the bus terminal cafe. There is a second when Judy's fingers start to squash this foolish
scrap of paper. But then the ghost of a grin. Judy is yanking me by the
arm, pushing bus baggage out of the way. "C'mon," she barks. "Let's have lunch."
To travelers from more populated areas of the world, Alaska can
seem like another planet. It is otherworldly in its difference, with its
vast wilderness, free-roaming wildlife, and splendid scenery. But the
call of the wild is also a call to our roots—to a rich fabric of nature
that speaks to our primeval past. That other world is also an ancient
home. All it takes to answer the "why" question is a visit to the state.
There is simply no comparable travel destination on Earth.
A more important question might be, "What’s the best way to see
Alaska?" Tourists make a mistake when they treat the state as they
might treat Washington, D.C., or Yellowstone. In Alaska, it is less
appropriate to carry a "must-see" destination list and drive from sight
to sight or viewpoint to viewpoint. The state is so richly endowed with
stunning mountains, awesome glaciers, and impressive wildlife that, in a
way, there’s no place to go—you’re already there!
If you’re wise, you won’t come to Alaska to collect snapshots
and T-shirts, but to seek experience. Head into the wild country. Feel
the power of a land that is geologically violent, climatologically raw,
and biologically inhuman. Nose your kayak into bergs of a Kenai Fjords
glacier, hoping you’re not a little too close to the calving river of
ice that sloughed them off. Listen to the motor of a floatplane fade
into the distance, the pilot having promised to retrieve you a week
later from a lonely gravel bar, 50 miles away across the Brooks Range.
Leave your tentsite for a sunset hike in the Wrangells, knowing that a
grizzly sow and her cubs might be trundling silently through the alders
just over the next rise. If your Alaska visit is likely to be a
once-in-a-lifetime event, come not as a tourist, but as an explorer.
