Ok, confession?
I speed. Like a lot. I don’t even try (well most of the time) and my hard set speed is 80. I just look down and there I am going 80. Doesn’t really matter what the speed limit actually is: 35, 45, 65. I am usually still going 80. (Ok, I rarely do 80 in a 35 except maybe in Casita Springs).
Next confession?
I often do not even know what the speed limit actually is. I tend to just adjust myself to what “feels” about right. Trouble is 80 feels about right most of the time.
I drive the 150, often. I used to drive it at least six days a week. So I have come to know it like the back of my hand. The curves, turns, place where the road gives, places where the road is hard and unforgiving. I know where the slides happen. I even know where that very strange man stands roadside, smoking late at night. Very creepy and very weird.
And I will admit I am a bit of an asshole. I fly and I am annoyed when others do not feel or behave the same. I try to use my behavior on the 150 as a spiritual barometer. It is a good gauge really but I will claim only marginal success.
Most of the time people just pull off and get out of my way. I love those people. Then there are those who vex me with their Sunday driving antics which vary from mildly annoying or completely unraveling, really just depends on the day.
Yesterday I was headed to San Luis Obispo for work. The 150 was part of that route. I passed the first three cars expediently without issue. Not too long into the drive I came up behind a guy in a brand new Porsche. We were both stuck behind a slow going Toyota. We both summarily passed the slow poke.
Once freed from being stalled by the reserved driver, the Porsche opened up and let loose. I charged right in behind him, believing that we were enjoying the freedom of the open road. I kept with him, turn for turn, mile for mile. I thought we were having a grand time. I thought we were kindred spirits.
Well I was wrong.
Turns out that he pulled over to let me pass with a somewhat scared/somewhat annoyed look on his face, I was expecting a peace sign, a high five or at the very least a head nod. Nope. None of the above. Apparently my close riding, speedway driving was cause for alarm, not celebration. Who knew?
It ended with the brand new, hot Porsche ceding way to me! A vehicle that could have summarily left my Audi in the dust.
So it is now official, even it it is self proclaimed...I own the 150.
Me, except I am not a man, but drive like one...Erindretti, a nickname I picked up in college.