Road rage deters chivalry on highway

The highway — it’s not quite Happy Hour, and it hasn’t made any year-end lists of Top 10… The highway — it’s not quite Happy Hour, and it hasn’t made any year-end lists of Top 10 Places to Meet New People. When maneuvering this often-precarious stretch of road, most people would prefer to be left alone by fellow drivers. And when it’s one of those higher-stress driving times — rush hour, errands-running, returning from vacation with impatient kids in the backseat — the odds of affable interaction between two drivers is low — Death Valley, hole-to-China, Mariah Carey acting-in-a-film low.

If a situation arises in which an incredibly valiant (and probably overly enthusiastic) person gets the fever to flag a driver down on the highway, then it’d best be a life-or-death scenario. Otherwise, it’s just too dramatic.

When thinking of reasons as to why this oddly placed interaction ever occurs, a short list comes to mind: road rage, road angst, anger and sheer creepiness. Selfless acts of people helping people are microscopic considerations. I guess that’s why I reacted rashly — and OK, I’ll play the self-deprecating card and throw in selfishly — when confronted recently with a driver in a tight spot.

Several weeks ago, my dad and I were returning home from Chincoteague, Va. It had been several hours of his driving and my iPod-aided half-sleep, and I’m pretty sure we’d just crossed the Maryland state line when, suddenly, my dad jarred me into alertness. After some seconds of WTF?-like confusion, I picked up on why he’d violated my post-vacation sloth.

The car directly in front of us, a dark green Nissan, was cruising happily along, unaware of its wobbling back right wheel. Maybe wobbling is an understatement. This wheel was ready to stage a jailbreak on its axle, and potentially take down a few police choppers Rambo style. So, my dad and I swapped shocked expressions and agreed that the situation was, well, really dangerous.

However, I was completely caught off guard when my dad unwaveringly took action. He abruptly changed lanes, sped forward so that we were now riding parallel to the precarious car, and lowered my passenger-side window. My dad had deemed it a great idea that I should shout at and wave to the driver — or whatever else was required — to get his attention. Then, at a speed of 85 mph, I’d coherently relay our sighting of his hazardous right wheel. Yeah. Count me out, Dad.

As I see it, shouting to someone on a major highway, regardless of a threatening scenario glaring back at you, equates to sneaking up on him in a pitch-black basement: It’s bound to startle this person, or, depending on the geographic region — here’s looking at you, Newark — downright terrify him. If I were the recipient of such roadway theatrics on a busy freeway, I’d more than likely swerve my car from surprise — risking veering into another lane — or quickly accelerate to shirk some psycho’s murderous plot. It wouldn’t occur to me, at least initially, that a fellow driver would be attempting an act of highway chivalry. There’s simply too great a stigma surrounding driver-on-driver interactions.

Needless to say, when I became aware of my dad’s intentions, I quickly countered that action, mumbling some dumbfounded expletives. I can’t and couldn’t bring myself to jolt someone from his behind-the-wheel concentration. Besides, there’s an excellent chance of being mistaken for one of the following: cat-calling chauvinist, token creep or maniacal weirdo wielding a weapon.

Guy With Wheel Problem hopefully soon noticed some rumbling or strange noises — I mean, this was the Fran Drescher of wobbling wheels — and pulled over for inspection. That’s how I’m easing my conscience, at least.

I know it probably sounds insensitive, but the act of attention grabbing at high speeds, because of the initial confusion it brings about, nixes every other detail of the situation. Also, I really don’t see there being many cases in which a life can be heroically salvaged by one driver pestering another — unless you include that urban legend of an axe murderer’s aims being chopped down by persistent high beams. If anyone ever encounters this sort of situation, by all means, go for it.

Until I learn one of those harrowing life lessons or encounter an instance extreme enough to justify a highway intervention, I’m content to play the role of deadbeat driver — or passive passenger, in this case.

E-mail Derek at dar22@pitt.edu.