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Windy, Narrow and Dangerous

By Karin L. Becker

Found in: | Outside | Scenic Drives |

While it may be true that we only see strip malls and wheat fields while on interstates - nothing really - interstates do provide a means of reflecting the communities they inhabit.

Roads reflect a community. Driving on the outskirts of Washington, D.C., last Christmas, despite the city not being in session, all six lanes of the highway were still jam-packed. Speed limit signs were comical. Although they posted a 55 mph speed limit, my husband and I were driving 75 just to keep up with the flow of traffic. And we were still passed in the right lane! Driving the speed limit would actually have posed a traffic hazard and a threat to our safety. The fast-paced, bottleneck driving reflects the pace of life in the nation's capital, but even more, the outdated speed limit signs reflect the slow pace of change in our nation's capital. They attest to the fact that progress takes a lot of time, patience and red-tape, and it is often better to rely on one's own judgment than to depend on the government for well-being.

Capital drivers know to expect delays. In fact, drivers are so adept at accepting delays they even pride themselves on coming up with new kinds of delays. My favorite is the term coined for when the sun sits low on the horizon, casting long slanted rays, blinding drivers: Sun Delays. For those drivers unlucky enough to live on the west side of D.C., driving home with sun delays only exacerbates the already-backed-up beltway traffic. The city should replace all of the useless speed limit signs and instead install signs that read: "Welcome to D.C.- drive fast; expect delays."

Where my family is from in North Dakota, it is common to see John Deere tractors tooling down the two-lane highway alongside a field of golden sunflowers. A true sign of a North Dakota country driver is the finger wave. Not a full five-fingered wave - that is too aggressive. Not even a flick of the wrist - that is too gregarious for these humble and mild-tempered folk. No, one's hand should not even leave the steering wheel. Just a non-chalant two finger lift that is barely noticeable unless you are in the know.

Having endured many North Dakota winters, including the coldest one on record, which led to the subsequent great flood of 1997, my theory is that folks are so glad to see another living soul after being cooped up inside all winter that they wave - look honey, another survivor! Of course, their enthusiasm, along with any emotion, is controlled with typical Lutheran restraint. Really, a casual two-finger wave in the midwest is the equivalent of a slap on the butt back east: daring and bold.

Here in Durango, while attending a concert, invariably the performer will remark on two things: the lack of oxygen and the lack of guard rails. It is becoming a clich� now, but one could argue that the roads in San Juan County aptly depict its residents. Windy, narrow and dangerous. Windy in the way that the citizens represent varying degrees of republican and democratic ideals, conservatives and liberal values, rancher and hippie lifestyles. Narrow referring to the size of our pocket books. Dangerous in the sense of risk and adventure.

It is a risk to live in a town with an inflated housing market yet limited career opportunities. A risk to welcome new dwellers and second home-owners without disregarding the needs of long-time locals. Adventurous in the many four-wheel roads that allow us to explore the back country and wilderness, the real reason that we choose to live here.

Driving over Coal Bank and Molas passes to Silverton, without the comfort of guard rails or shoulders, is dangerous. Drivers must ignore the temptation to gawk at the beautiful mountains and pay full attention to the circuitous road. Several times, I've seen fresh skid marks trailing off the side of the road with a group of concerned motorcyclists leaning over the edge, looking for the rider.

Yet it is this danger that helps define us - our quest to explore more remote places and to try more extreme sports. Historically, it was dangerous to mine, to cross the mountains by wagon, to homestead an unforgiving land. It is dangerous to live in an alpine desert region with drought conditions; our memories of fires and evacuations loiter. But it is this sense of jeopardy that strengthens us.

We are a self-reliant, independent lot who prefer to pave our own trail or muscle out an escape. Increasingly, there is a movement to do more solo pursuits, adventuring into the wilderness alone and rely on less gadgets and gizmos. Not because we are dumb or arrogant but because, every now and then, we like to have a brush with risk. It prepares us to cope with insurmountable obstacles like harsh mountain weather: avalanches, fire and floods; to stay afloat amidst a swollen real-estate market and shrinking economy; and to remain calm, organized and attentive when running into bears, mountain lions or D.C. bureaucrats that throw another boulder at our democracy.

Our roads are purposefully windy, narrow and dangerous. Like the traffic in the east, the cold in the midwest, our guard rail-less roads are designed to keep out the riffraff.

Karin L. Becker is a freelance writer and photographer in Durango and teaches writing at Fort Lewis College.