People Are Stinkin' Crazy In Hillmomba

I honked at a car yesterday. Don't go thinking it was a case of road rage. Mrs. HM is perfectly capable of throwing a raging fit of road rage. But this was not it. This was purely a warning honk. No fist-shaking or cursing within the confines of T-Hoe's hermetically sealed cabin.

It was on the curve by the prison. I was headed towards town, making the prison on my right, putting me on the inside of the curve. This curve seems not to be banked correctly, or was perhaps measured as an imperfect parabola. I've driven this curve for 22 years, in both directions, and I am wary each time I approach it. It can be taken at the legal speed limit of 55 mph, even in a vehicle with a high center of gravity, such as T-Hoe. I say it CAN be driven at that speed. Not that it SHOULD.

In fact, when The Pony was learning to drive, in his little Nissan Rogue, which is low to the ground, and small compared to T-Hoe, I warned him. "Slow down here and pay attention. This curve will eat you up. There's a reason those tree trunks are scarred up. People run off the road here all the time."

My mom would slow down to 35 mph on that curve, in her TrailBlazer. I didn't begrudge her this rate, even though I was generally antsy riding with her on the straighter parts, her 45 mph seeming too slow.

So the facts have been established. This curve is nothing to trifle with. All week, there's been a dead skunk near the center line. Not on it. But not in the middle of the out-of-town-heading lane. It's the outer edge of the curve, where people run off the road and would land in a small pond if not for the scarred trees.

I am very aware of my road companions in this area. I know what's behind me, how close, and what's coming at me. On my way home all week, I slowed down at the skunk. With nothing coming, I'd make sure to straddle it with T-Hoe's tires. If traffic was coming at me, I'd slow more, and move over towards the side line to avoid the carcass. Nobody wants (even dead) skunk juice squirted on the underside of their vehicle.

Anyhoo... there I was on Thursday, heading to town, in the non-skunk lane. A maroon sedan was coming in the other direction. He moved over to straddle the skunk. Way over. Into-my-lane over. I was sure he'd correct himself as he got closer to me. But he did not! As far as I could tell, he was fixated on that skunk, and was continuing to encroach more and more onto my blacktop territory.

So I honked.

The maroon car at least stopped coming into my lane. Held steady, though still forcing me to the very edge of my side. I felt bad about the honk. Our neighbor Tommy has a car like that. Well. The car we bought and gave to him. He's a pretty fast driver, and this one wasn't going all that fast. I kept worrying that it was Tommy. We pass every day around that time, but usually on our gravel road as he comes home for lunch.

When I got into town, another maroon sedan was pulling out of the Orb K parking lot. I tried to convince myself that it was Tommy. I felt a little better about that honk.