No. It was not a concrete structure keeping me from my travels. It was a person. And believe me, he was no Mel Gibson. No road warrior. So I have chosen to name him The Road Barrier.
We met this morning at 7:05 a.m. The time when the sun is creeping over the horizon. Brightly. On a blind uphill curve, with a long semi loaded with rock bearing down on me from the oncoming lane, The Road Barrier and I became acquainted. He scuffed along in the middle (yes, I said THE MIDDLE) of my traffic lane, even though a five-foot swath of only partially-littered wet grass was available for his transportation needs. He did not deign to turn. To meet my eye over his shoulder. On he plodded, giving no quarter, insouciantly swinging his see-through grocery sack, two apples swaying like fake testicles on the tow-hitch of a rebel-flag-decaled pickup truck. Apparently, he had missed the memo: roads are not for walking.
The Road Barrier gave not a smidgen. Not a skosh. He owned that piece of pavement, by cracky, and was yielding for no vehicle. I slammed on my anti-lock brakes. Came to a complete stop. In the road. On a blind uphill curve. To keep from killing him. He would have been safer with Gordie and Vern, traipsing over the railroad trestle high above the Castle River, on a quest to discover the body of Ray Brower out on Back Harlow Road.
I call for the state of Missouri to initiate a walkers license, requiring all walkers to pass a written test, and a perambulation test, every two years. Our roads will be safer. Our revenue will increase.
Let's make it happen.