There was a time that I found rumble strips—you know, those zig-zaggy
indentions down the middle and sides of highways—to be nothing but obnoxious.
They make terrible sounding vibrations when crossed, regardless of whether drivers
intend to pass over them or not. They
remind me of a dentist using the big drill to grind out a chunk of old filling.
My feelings about those asphalt irritations changed the day those rough-carved asphalt concaves saved not
only my life but my mom’s. Since then, I’ve new respect for that once
disturbing noise.
Prior to my attitude changing experience, my familiarity with those
indentions bisecting highways was how they sounded when I passed another
vehicle or when I cruised too close to the edge of the highway. Once I hit them, I knew it. Not only did the
sound remind me of getting my teeth fixed, the non-stop shuddering rattled and
shook everything loose in my vehicle. If
I didn’t hear something clattering before, I did after hitting a few rumble
strips.
Because I’d never fallen asleep driving, I hadn’t needed
them to awaken me to get back in my own lane. I didn’t recognize their value
until the day that thunkety-thunk-thunk-thunk told me I was about to get run
over by a big red truck on Highway 36.
Mom and I had driven west from Phillipsburg, heading toward
the Prairie View turnoff to Logan. Not far out of town, I noted a semi hauling
a big trailer speeding up in my rear view mirror. No problem, I thought. We had
time for it to pass long before we reached our exit.
Even though I slowed enough
the driver could easily swing around me in the open lane, he didn’t. Every time I checked my mirror, I saw more of
his grill creeping up on the back of my little Toyota. As we got closer and
closer to our left turn, I wondered how he’d slow enough to avoid running over
us. So he knew my intentions, I flicked on my signal far in advance.
Initially, it appeared the driver backed off. I breathed a
sigh of relief and positioned my car to turn across the east-bound lane.
Despite feeling safer, I began checking every mirror. Imagine my surprise when
I heard that ominous, familiar vibrato. I
knew I hadn’t crossed the center line, and there was nothing in the rearview
mirror. Quickly, I looked over my left shoulder, where I saw the passenger door
of my nemesis. That enormous beast had zipped round me on the left in a turn
lane. Yikes!
Thank goodness I didn’t turn. Once the behemoth sped ahead,
I breathed deeply and completed my maneuver. Then I thanked the Lord I’d heard
that warning sound I once deplored. Mom and I sighed with relief that we hadn’t
become statistics.
Now days, I savor that growl whining out from beneath my wheels
as I pull out to pass. I also discovered last winter it comes in handy when I drive through deep
snow. Even if the road isn’t cleared, that vibration tells me I’ve driven too
far toward the ditch.
When I took my husband up to show him where I nearly died
that October day, he noted the double yellow line that means no passing. Then
he calmly informed me that I was right about being indignant, but if I hadn’t
heard that warning and proceeded to turn , I’d have been dead right. Thank
goodness for rumble strips.
