Rush hour once actually was an hour — some polite bustle as the sun set and whitewall tires hummed over black asphalt with the thrum of modernity. Rush hour signaled progress, purpose, success. Why look, there’s Ward Cleaver gliding home in a big, fat Buick Roadmaster, bound for civilized cocktails with June.
Ah-h-h. Life is good. Life is rolling.
But now rush hour is 18 hours long. Maybe 19. The proverbial “rush” has expanded to early morning, morning, midday, late day, evening, late evening, evening work zone, rolling work zones, HOV delays and mystery lane closures, when six trucks materialize and dally by the roadside for no apparent reason.
Traffic reporters try to make sense of it all, performing an interpretative dance before Accelerator, the God of Traffic, as computer screens pulsate with red trouble spots and hazy gridlock. Even the reporters are stumped sometimes, though. One traffic meister recently faced the ultimate challenge during a live radio report.
“We have an eight-mile tie-up working, no bail-out, clogged arteries and a possible disabled in the backup,” he intoned in polished traffic-speak.
Then there was an uncharacteristic pause.
“Uh-h-h, tractor-trailer jack-knife? Fender bender? Police action?” asked the afternoon drive-time hostess.
“Well. No. It’s signage.”
“Signage?”
“I’m reading overhead signage as the cause, right here in the bulletin,” the reporter replied.
Oh. But of course. One of the big Vegas-style lights had blinked on above six screaming lanes of westbound traffic, announcing to all the drivers that there was “Heavy Traffic” and that they needed to “Use Caution.”
Even Ward Cleaver would have to take a few seconds to read that bright, incredibly useful, insightful message. Multiply Ward’s dutiful inclinations by, say, a thousand Toyota Corollas and a few Escalades, and the heavy traffic is not only dead ahead, it stretches for eight miles behind as well, complete with no bail-out, clogged arteries and disableds in the backup.
The message should, at least, be interesting. Maybe the Federal Highway Administration should issue a set of suggested communiques for the electronic signs that loom over congested roads to reassure drivers when the going gets tough:
“Caution: Flying saucer landing zone.”
“Honk if you’re awake.”
“Llamas and weasels loose ahead.”
“Blond girl changing tire. Don’t look.”
Indeed. Everyone knows that if a blond anything — even a Saluki — is by the roadside, there will be a traffic jam. But such is the true mystery of rush hour, now that it is 18 hours long.
Oh, it’s not that hundreds of experts haven’t tried to explain traffic travails. We know, for example, that Washington commuters spend 69 hours a year in gridlock, according to Texas A&M’s national Urban Mobility Report. Meanwhile, our personal trips have increased by 181 percent since 1969, while the number of vehicle miles has jumped by almost 200 percent, this according to federal highway resources. The number of new road miles, however, has increased by just 6 percent.
Al Gore should get out his party hat, though: Airborne carbon dioxide has dropped by 43 percent, and volatile organic compounds have fallen by 59 percent during the same time period.
We also know which states have the worst roads in the nation. (New Jersey wins, followed by California and New York, according to the Reason Foundation.) Thanks to an analysis by Autovantage, we know which cities have drivers with the worst road rage (Miami, New York, Los Angeles, Washington).
Insurance consultants at Quality Planning Corp. have determined that students, doctors, lawyers, architects and real estate agents are the nation’s worst drivers. Homemakers, politicians, pilots, firemen and farmers are the best, the group says. GMAC Insurance, meanwhile, estimates that 36 million licensed Americans would not be able to pass their written driving exam.
Things could always be worse, though. Consider this account of the nation’s “worst traffic incident” last year, courtesy of our friends at Metro Traffic Control Inc.
“A tractor-trailer hauling a Tomahawk test missile overturned on I-95 southbound in the Bronx. The missile ended up on the Interstate. The highway was closed that morning while [Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms] officials and NYPD bomb crews investigated. Metro Network radio and TV helicopters were over the scene all morning as workers carefully removed the missile from the highway. No serious injuries resulted. There apparently was no triggering device on the missile.”
Let’s hope the overhead signage that day read, “Don’t worry. It’s a dud.”
Jennifer Harper covers media, politics and blond girls changing tires for The Washington Times’ national desk. Reach her at jharper@ washingtontimes.com or 202/636-3085.
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