Commute has plenty of entertainment

I’m starting to compile a list of all the questions that come to me during my daily drive to and from Anchorage. Maybe I just think too much while driving instead of zoning out like that one guy in the BMW does (the one I see almost every morning merging at the Parks/Glenn interchange who has yet to ever use his turn signal as he flies into the far left lane). But somebody out there, perhaps, has answers for some of these conundrums.

Take the stalking techniques I see police use. When I’m approaching an overpass, it’s not uncommon to see a car or two driving over the freeway on that overpass. It’s a road, after all, and that’s what cars do on a road. So it kind of stands out when I see a car just sitting there parked. Do they have a switch on the dash that says “invisible mode” and maybe I have some sort of extra-sensory perception and am able to actually see them? Or is it like when you play peek-a-boo with a baby and the officer is covering his eyes so I can’t see him? Am I supposed to think it’s a big lump of snow piled up on the overpass and not a police car?

What’s up with that double-turn lane exit you have to use to get to Palmer when you’re coming back from Anchorage across the hay flats? I think the guy who designed that thing had a former job at an amusement park designing roller coasters. If you’re foolish enough to actually try and drive the posted speed limit while negotiating its sharp curves, on a rolling-up-then-down overpass, you’re in for the ride of your life. Add another car next to you and it doubles the excitement.

The real treat is at the end when the right lane suddenly merges in the left just past the entry point where cars coming from Wasilla and headed to Palmer turn into the left lane. Whee! Wintertime doubles the fun because they don’t really maintain the left exit lane. Hit that sucker (on a curve) and you’re on the highway equivalent of a Slip-n-Slide. Don’t even bother tapping the brakes, just hang onto the wheel and pray.

What exactly constitutes heavy traffic on that highway? I’ve been driving it for years and pretty much given up on tuning in the traffic report. One traffic reporter always sounds like he’s saying “Alabama” or “Rama-Lama” and always reports the traffic is “near moderate” or “approaching moderate level.” Moderate? When I’ve been near-parked in traffic for 45 minutes between the North Eagle River exit and Eagle River hill, I tend to view that as heavy, Mr. Rama-Lama.

What’s the proper protocol for the create-a-lane method of driving when the snow and ice has totally obscured all the lines? It seems to change by the day, by the mile or every few minutes. Sometimes the Glenn Highway will suddenly develop five lanes, then a half-mile down the road dwindles to three. Cars and trucks will slowly edge their way over until I’m practically sitting on the lap of the passenger in the truck next to me. Oops, guess his lane and mine are now merging into one. I’ll make the mistake of thinking we have settled into a four-lane traffic pattern only to get alarmed when a small car zips between my car and the rig next to mine with only inches to spare. Oops, guess we have just created a fifth lane.

How worn-out does a sign have to get before its replaced or fixed? For several years now I’ve passed the sign telling me that the next exit will take me to “Thunderbi Falls.” Or was there a name change and I missed it? I used to enjoy the occasional autumn hike up to Thunderbird Falls, but have yet to try out Thunderbi Falls.

The old stories of the sea tell of sirens who would lure sailors with song until they had dashed their ships onto the rocks. There must be some truth to those stories, and the modern-day siren must lurk in the median, hidden in the deep snow. How else to explain the multitude of cars and trucks I see jammed into the snow there? What could possible drive a person to drift over to the left far enough to plow a car into a huge snowberm? I have been driving that highway for years and can honestly say I have never had a single instance where I had a sudden urge to veer left and bury my car in that snowberm.

The other day I saw a driver with true talent; he had somehow managed to get his Ford Explorer all the way on top of what I would estimate to be a 10-foot-high berm in the median by Peter’s Creek. Not upside-down, not on its side, but perched perfectly all the way up there still facing north-south. It was as though God had reached down, picked up his sport utility vehicle and then gently set it down on top of that giant snow pile.

So many people were staring that a van to my right managed to plow into the snow on his side of the highway (in a Share-a-Ride van no less; don’t know how much longer you’re going to be the designated driver).

I’ll continue my daily commute, keeping my mind busy pondering all the oddities I find while tracing grooves in the pavement back and forth, back and forth every day. Hey, at least it keeps me awake.

Ben Compton is a Palmer resident and publishes his column as “Compton’s Corner,” the same title used by his grandmother, Phyllis Compton, a longtime Frontiersman columnist.