Some of you probably wouldn't want to ride in my car with me.  I think I am a good driver.  But, I view good maybe slightly different than you.  Good to me is defined by following speed limits with a loose interpretation.  Interpreting on the high end.  You know that place somewhere over the posted limit and where you need to check your rear view mirror when a cop passes by you in the opposite direction to be sure he hasn't turned around.  Good to me also means distancing myself from slow drivers.  They inhibit my ability to loosely interpret the law.  Driving back this week from some work I did in a town about an hour from me, I was met with some impediments to my good driving.  I have stuff I want to do in life.  One of those things is not to spend any more time en route to somewhere than I have to.  I want to be there and then on to the next thing.  Unfortunately there are those who are given a license and a car that do not hold to my way of driving.  Which would not happen if I ruled the world.  This week has proven to me that our transportation system needs to be overhauled.  My proposal for change is simple:  Slow Drivers and Farm Machinery must have their own roads.  On my hour drive home on a state highway, I encountered farm machinery twice.  The first close encounter of a farm kind was a huge tractor pulling what appeared to be a 16 row disc cultivator.  The cultivator, even in fold up mode, was wider than one full side of traffic.  The tractor driver awkwardly had half of the plow off the road while the other half teetered near the center line.  There was no getting around this vehicle.  I was 8th in line behind the tractor plow combo.  Behind me were at least another dozen cars.  We topped the speedometer at 25 MPH.  Our convoy piddled down the highway with no ability to pass him for about 4 miles or more.  The farmer made no attempt to pull off the road and let the now frenzied line of drivers by.  Rage roared through me along with a few swear words.  I grew up on a farm.  My dad, uncle and grandfather farmed.  I understood big farm machinery.  I knew all about transporting it from field to field - from the farm to the feed mill or to the John Deere dealer for repairs.  It is a necessary part of farming.  I still didn't like it.   That same day, as I approached a small burg on this same rural highway, a pickup with another plow pulled out of a tractor dealership right in front of my 63 MPH moving vehicle.  I slammed on my brakes and again let a few words fly.  Why he had pulled out in front of me, I don't know.  There was no one behind me.  He could have waited one car to pull out.  But, no!!  I painfully broke my speed to a snail's crawl yet again.  I could see two middle aged men in the cab of the pickup.  They, like the tractor driver earlier, seemed on their own time.  Unaware or uncaring of how their half of the posted speed limit driving affected me.  As I had opportunity, I sped up to pass.  Getting even with the front of their pickup, I looked over and shook my head and mouthed the word why as I accelerated in front of them.  I glanced in my rear view mirror to see the reaction on their faces from my charade game I had just played with them.  They were clueless.  It did not affect them in any way shape or form.  They didn't get mad.  They didn't speed up.  They didn't mouth the words my heart craved to hear, "We are sorry we pulled out in front of you - the only car within miles.  Even though we feed the world, we don't own the roads."  As I pulled even with their pickup truck, I rolled my passenger side window down and in full revolt mode, I threw my wheat bread off my sandwich at them.  It was my way of telling them even though they grow the wheat that made my bread, I was going wheatless!  I didn't really do that.  At least not the bread part!  How fitting it would have been though since I do have a wheat allergy.

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