The Passing

I got passed while driving my pickup the other day. Happens a lot more often lately. But this time was a bit different. Happened early in the morning about six thirty. But that’s not the unusual part. It happened on a stretch of a two lane highway. Guess my going the speed limit wasn’t fast enough for that younger man in a hurry.

Used to be I was in a hurry all the time. Then I retired. It’s been about six years, and it’s taken some time to transition into a slower pace. I no longer live in the rat race. No longer have to face the grind that I used to call everyday living. Don’t usually know what time it is anymore as I’ve stopped wearing a watch. Most of the time I couldn’t even tell you the date. Or the day. But those are good problems to have. Retirement. I recommend it highly.

There was some construction going on not too far from the house so sometimes I’d drive the long way home. It takes me through Hart Park which is very big. I forget how many acres big. It’s a great place. Probably spend more time there in the last six years than all other parks I’ve lived close to put together. I often wonder who is responsible for enforcing the speed limit there. Apparently nobody. I could very well be the only one in Bakersfield if not all of Kern County that actually drives the speed limit through that park.

When riding my bicycle through the park I don’t use Alfred Harrell Hwy anymore. The shoulder along the road is virtually nonexistent. Drivers unwilling to obey the speed limit and share the road make it too dangerous for me. Had one too many close calls with drivers on their way to the soccer park. One soccer mom in a Sherman Tank came just a little too close. Well, her SUV sure felt like a tank as it zoomed past. Mere inches from the handlebars. I didn’t realize her passengers were on the way to play in a World Cup competition. But thanks to her I now ride through the park on the street that parallels the river. I hope her team won.

It’s not often that I drive during rush hour. That’s what we call it here. Try the L.A. freeways at three in the afternoon. Now that’s a rush hour. But it’s all relative. We’re in just as big a hurry here. To get to the TV at home. To watch another reality show. Then go to bed. To get up and do it all over tomorrow. I won’t tell you to stop and smell the roses. Or the coffee. But only because no matter how many times someone gave me that advice, I never took it either. I was in too much of a hurry. Passing people.