Motorists can drive you batty

There’s a lot to love about Alaska. Personally, I think most everybody loves it here because if you don’t, you hate it and either already left or are trying to figure out how to move to Arizona. (Not sure why Arizona seems to be Xanadu for Alaskans, but that’s a subject for another column). That said, I must admit there is at least one thing I miss about my travels in the Lower 48 — they drive better there!

I have one teenager in the house who is already driving. Within the next couple years, I’ll have two more. The older one took driver’s education and the rest of my children will too. It’s my own little contribution to trying to improve our driving culture. I want them to know as much as possible besides my own input to their driving experiences before they take the test to get that license (pays for itself through cheaper insurance rates, too.). Judging by what my oldest son’s friends and other parents tell me, I’m in the minority here. In fact, the rather crowded driver’s education class my son took had only one other teenager. I gotta tell you, I don’t know if a lot of you really should be the ones responsible for teaching your children how to drive.

Every day I run the gauntlet of commuting to and from Anchorage. You may have seen me; I’m the guy trying to match the pace of traffic while, at the same time, leaving a safety zone between my front bumper and the car ahead of me. But you’d have to look quick, because inevitably there’s somebody excited to shoehorn his or her car into that buffer to cut a precious .03 seconds off his or her commute (after they’ve moved into the right lane to pass two or three cars, of course).

I imagine these people mumbling, “Don’t these other drivers realize I’m somebody important!” I’m also that weirdo who took the time to figure out that the stick on the left side of the steering column operates a handy device called a “turn signal.” I always picture the person behind me looking puzzled at the back of my car and saying aloud, “What the heck is wrong with his tail-lights? One of them is blinking!”

Actually, that’s not entirely accurate. Some of you are courteous enough to hit your blinker once just before wedging your car between me and the car in front of me, as if your signal is some kind of “Moses device” that will magically part traffic to allow you to fit. Or perhaps you’ve seen me in your rearview mirror, veering to the right side of my lane every time you meander into those bumps just outside the fog line and blow a cloud of dirt and rocks all over my car. Those bumps prove it is possible after all to use Braille as a driving tool.

Now I have learned, after living in the Lower 48 for a few years, to re-adjust my driving habits for Alaska. I now try to strike a balance between maintaining at least some feeble attempt at that previously mentioned safety zone while not enabling every Mad Max on the road to jam his or her car into it. If I let every car in that tried to do that, I’d end up driving backwards. I maintain the minimum 20 mph over the speed limit pace in all weather. Even though I cringe every time, I pass those cars waiting to make a left-hand turn on the right shoulder (although I do it slowly and carefully. I know I’m supposed to do it at 65+ mph, but sorry folks, I just can’t bring myself to do it).

I held out on this one as long as I could, but learned quickly that if I don’t pass on the right, people behind me will just pass us both, which increases the danger exponentially. But I can’t quite bring myself to adopt them all. For instance, I still cling to my odd behavior of only passing in passing zones instead of on hills or around blind corners. I don’t drive a foot from the car in front of me. Rather than slowly pull out in front of traffic (or do the opposite and just blow the stop sign), I wait for a space large enough for me to enter traffic and get to speed without the oncoming car having to hit its brakes. I use turning lanes that were intentionally placed there when they constructed the road instead of just making my own when I have to make a right-hand turn at an intersection. When possible, I move over to allow cars on entrance ramps to easily merge. If I’m on an entrance ramp, I recognize that it’s my obligation to yield (not your obligation to let me in). I know, I know, I’m just nutty that way.

I’m not sure why we Alaskans drive in such a way as to make Los Angeles traffic seem peaceful. I don’t know if it’s older generations passing on their driving habits to younger ones. I don’t know if it stems from our passion for freedom and limited government (“I paid for this road and I’ll drive on it any way I please!”). Maybe we can’t transition from quads and snowmachines to operating a vehicle on the road. Heck, maybe we’re just nuts. Maybe it’s some combination of these things, I truly don’t know.

I do know that I’m not the only one to occasionally gripe about it and I’ve seen all kinds of suggestions and ideas on how to combat it. I think the one I hear the most is “more enforcement.” But seriously people, do you really want a police officer every mile? Going beyond the fact that it would be impossible, some of those officers are the same ones I see blowing by me on the right shoulder. Personally, I think a program similar to other states wherein it’s required to take a driver’s education class in order to get your license at 16 would be a good start. Start teaching good habits in the beginning.

But whatever the solutions are, all I know for now is that I’m looking for a new commuter car. No, not something economical. I’m thinking an early- to mid-1970s American land yacht with lots of dents and a drooping, loud tailpipe, smoking, in primer and rust.

Plastic in place of a smashed window somewhere would be a good touch. Railroad ties for bumpers. Maybe a chain holding one of the doors closed. Lots of obnoxious bumper stickers all uneven across the bumper and truck lid (which is held partially shut with a bungee cord so it bounces up and down as I cruise). A jolly roger would be stenciled on the doors. I’ll wear a helmet and thick comedy glasses. I figure driving to work and back every day like that will give me a larger safety zone around my car.

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