Val Drives Herself Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire

The road to town has been undergoing sidewalk installation for a couple months now. They don't work on it every day. I think maybe the supervisor flips a coin in the morning to decide. When construction is actually in progress, there are extra signs besides the big electronic one flashing the message. Orange diamond-shaped signs, tens of feet apart. MEN WORKING. FLAGMAN AHEAD. BE PREPARED TO STOP.

I can avoid this by making a left turn just before those signs, driving past Mick the Mechanic's shop, then taking a right to go past the bowling alley, through a couple roundabouts, and into town on the road beside the Gas Station Chicken Store. 

On Tuesday, I did not detour. Sometimes the road isn't blocked, and men are just smoothing out the fresh concrete, finishing up, by the time I venture to town. Welp! There WAS a flagman. Not a problem. I was PREPARED TO STOP.

Thing is, there was only ONE flagman. He was past the big yellow backhoe thingy that was backing into the road. I couldn't tell if his sign said STOP or SLOW. They're similar, you know. And orange is not a good contrast to red. I'm not an idiot. I stopped to let the backhoe clear the pavement. Crept forward a little. Saw that the sign indeed said SLOW. A truck coming over the hill toward me must have had the same problem in perception. He screeched to a halt. I was concerned for the flagman.

Because I don't like taking chances with my safety, even in sturdy T-Hoe, I decided to take the other route on the way home. You never know when somebody will slam into you because they are not PREPARED TO STOP. That's just Val. Safety is her middle name. Val Safety Thevictorian.

I left by the back alley of the Gas Station Chicken Store. Turned right, and proceeded to the main roundabout, which was busy at that time, since the high school had just dismissed. 

There are four roads connected to that roundabout. If you think of it as a clock, I was coming in from the 6 o'clock position, turning right to go counterclockwise. At 3:00 is the high school road, at 12:00 is the entrance/exit long ramp to the interstate highway, and at 9:00 is the road I needed, that proceeds to a less busy roundabout that will take me past the bowling alley.

I waited for my chance to enter, as is proper etiquette (and probably the law) at a roundabout. Cruised around past the 3:00 high school road, past the 12:00 highway entrance ramp, and THEN IT HAPPENED!

A small gray sedan came hurtling down the highway exit ramp at about 50 mph, and shot in front of T-Hoe into the roundabout. I jammed on the brakes and hit the horn. The driver, a 30-something dude in a flannel shirt, baseball cap, and black wraparound sunglasses, did not give any sign of remorse. That's a long ramp. He could see the roundabout from 50 yards away. He knew there was a roundabout. He could see cars going around it. I guess he was just entitled.

I would have felt bad if maybe he was headed to the emergency hospital that is located on the road to the Gas Station Chicken Store. If perhaps he had somebody with a severed pinky-toe, or a woman in labor, or hunter with an arrow through his head. But in that case, he would have had on his emergency flashers, because, DUH, emergency! Nope. This guy had his elbow on the rolled-down window, alone in the car, just not wanting to wait his turn. It's amazing the details you notice when your life is in danger...

It behooves one to be aware of all the moving parts in a roundabout. You can't trust anybody to use common sense.

So much for avoiding the potential danger of the MEN WORKING flagman.