Those who live far from four lane highways and interstates must
consider a new issue when we travel to distant appointments. In the past, you
could figure a mile a minute on open highway in good weather. Tweak that for
town speed limits and stoplights. Only during harvest season did you expect to
deal with slow moving, oversized vehicles. Nowadays, travelers heading south down
Highway 183 from Phillipsburg anticipate a slow jaunt not behind just one wind
tower or blade in tow, but several. Fortunate drivers will cruise at a crawl
until they pass those behemoths.
Recently, I’ve experienced instances heading to an
appointment in Hays where I found myself thrilled that my family trained me to
leave well ahead of time no matter what the reason. Here’s the dilemma. How
early does one need to depart when caravans of wind turbine carriers take over
a road designed for 65 mph traffic and roll along at 40 to 50 miles an hour?
The other day, my dentist worked me in for an emergency
appointment at noon. I calculated mileage and slowdowns through the five
communities along my path. Under perfect conditions, I’d arrive in 1 1/2 hours.
In less than optimal circumstances, I’d need another 15 minutes, so I left 35
minutes early. You can imagine my chagrin when I spied slow-moving vehicle
flashers at Glade.
Initially, I figured I’d pass the warning vehicle, turbine
truck, and the pickup ahead of it with blinking yellow lights before Stockton’s
city limit sign. No worries. I had yet to note two additional long, white,
ultra-wide pillars and their escorts. My hopes sank when those became visible
once I reached the region’s highest hill. Darn! I counted fourteen vehicles
trapped ahead of me amongst these diesel tortoises’ creeping procession. I
looked in the rear view mirror and noted at least four agitated drivers behind
me. Nineteen of us were murmuring unkind thoughts about the economic benefits
of wind generated electricity.
At Stockton, my bladder announced the arrival of that
morning’s coffee. I’d passed one turbine team so there was no way I’d listen to
nature’s irritating call. By Plainville, that organ screamed on high alert, but
by then, I’d overtaken the other two units. Uncomfortable beyond belief, I writhed
in my seat and set the accelerator for the speed limit plus tolerance once I
exited town.
That 24 miles to Hays was miserable. Side roads called me to
pull over until I glanced in my rearview mirror to see the bright orange end of
that huge pillar trailing behind. In response, I squinched around until I found
a tolerable position and maintained speed. No way was I letting either that convoy
or a trooper slow me again.
By the time I reached Wendy’s, I had just enough lead for a
pit stop that would permit me to stay ahead of my nemesis. I reached the
dentist with two minutes to spare. That’s a close call for someone who’s been
taught to arrive at least 10 minutes early to all life events.
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