Adventures in driving is a good topic for a whine-y blog post today.
I was heading toward the northern shore of the United States, on East 9th Street, which is nicknamed Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Boulevard because heading farther toward Lake Erie brings traffic to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum and Voinovich Park on the left before ending at the lake. Burke Lakefront Airport, the location of the International Women’s Air & Space Museum, which is a sponsor of the 2011 Engineering Exploration Camp for high school-aged young women with a curiosity about engineering, is a right turn off East 9th.
I approached the intersection of St. Clair Avenue, intending to turn left, and pulled up behind a car, which was stopped in the left turn lane, apparently waiting for traffic coming the other way to pass before making the turn. The car carried a Connecticut license plate above the rear bumper.
Just to let you know, I mean no disrespect to the fine citizens of Connecticut with this post (The Western Reserve was actually a part of Connecticut until the people of the Western Reserve threw off the shackles of the arrogant East Coast subjugators by staging a bloody revolt -- well, maybe that's not true, but the land on the shores of Lake Erie was malarial swamp land that those Connecticut Land Company bastards sold to unsuspecting settlers, killing off many of them.). After all, nobody arrested me when my flight landed in Hartford several years ago. And I was permitted to rent a car for the drive to Amherst, Massachusetts, without taking a driving test; so, I assume the traffic laws are substantially the same there as those in Ohio. Massachusetts, well, that's another story.
I'm sitting behind this guy -- it could have been a woman, but it was a guy -- and the light is green for us. And he's not going into the intersection, but sitting there at the white stop bar, waiting. And waiting. And there's no on-coming traffic. And being fully cognizant that Cleveland needs all the visitors it can get, I don't want the guy to feel unwelcome. After all, he's probably trying to get his bearings; so, I give him a short, friendly toot of the white Yaris' cute-sounding horn. The Connecticut guy's brake lights remained illuminated, unlike the green light, which changes to yellow, then to red.
It's not like the corner of East 9th and St. Clair is all that interesting. Claes Oldenburg's Free Stamp sculpture is at the next intersection at Lakeside and East 9th, and the flowers in front of the Penton Building at the intersection haven't erupted from the ground yet, let alone come into bloom. The steel and glass IMG Building, aside from being the birthplace of the ground-breaking sports agent firm, International Management Group, isn't all that interesting, except for the temperature sign telling us it is 34 F.
I can only assume that he is mesmerized by the expanse of water about a half mile ahead -- Lake Erie. He may be wondering where Canada is -- people have asked me while I'm walking the dogs on a clear day why they can't see Canada on the other side, apparently thinking that Lake Erie is smaller than it is; but it's about 50 miles across the lake to the Canadian shoreline. The horizon is nothing but sky-meeting-water in that direction.
The green arrow lights up, telling us it is okay to turn left onto St. Clair without interference. Mr. Connecticut's brake lights remain brightly lit. He isn't moving at all. Maybe he is thinking about the presentation he is about to make at his up-coming business meeting. I don't want him to be late.
I help him by laying on the horn, startling him into action. Really.
And, upon reflection, he did not give me the finger.
Posted by Bill at March 31, 2011 02:27 PM