Road Construction demons threaten to drive us to grave

In 1898, the British began building the Kenya-Uganda Railway. But these two lions took offense and began eating the construction workers (The Lions of Tsavo).

The locals called one lion "The Ghost," and the other lion "The Darkness." They believed the beasts to be demons, not regular lions.

Like famine, drought, locusts, snakebite or any other suffering wrought by nature, their view of such events never was merely scientific; it was animistic. Something had gone terribly wrong in their relationship to the cosmos, and some divine or supernatural retribution had been unleashed in the form of two man-eating lions.

This is pretty much the way I view inner-city road construction in Las Vegas. It's following me. It's stalking me. It's personal.

My neighborhood is under siege. It's clear to me that the orange cones, barrels and menacing blinking lights have learned where I live. Worse, the construction demons have become familiar with my routes to work.

First, they stalked my neighborhood exit onto Sahara Avenue. They ate one lane and sometimes two lanes from Interstate 15 to Decatur Boulevard, including the sidewalk on the north side of the street. I fled the municipal savannah and darted behind the bank and CVS Pharmacy over to Valley View Boulevard. To no avail. Immediately, they began eating the northbound lanes of Valley View. So I snuck across the parking lot behind McDonald's, Landry's and Macaroni Grill toward Rancho Drive and on toward Oakey Boulevard.

The Cones and the Traffikness. They were waiting for me.

On June 20, 7:25 a.m., these predators almost got me. I was westbound on U.S. Highway 95, in the left of two lanes to exit onto Summerlin Parkway. I've made this exit a thousand times. It was the perfect place for an ambush.

I signal right, then fade right, exiting the highway. Suddenly, the demons were there, eating my lane, a blinking sign gleefully daring me to merge right at 45 mph into congested traffic. All in the space of about 120 feet. In my rearview, I see the truck panic, as herd animals often do. He fishtails, trying to keep from hitting me, then dives into the right lane, forcing the Kia behind him to send a waft of vaporized Michelins into the summer desert air.

Are you kidding me! This idiot is now gunning it past me on my right. It all becomes slow motion. I'm about to have a serious, maybe deadly car accident.

He misses my bumper by an eyelash. I'm serious -- I have no idea how he missed me. My body is filled with adrenaline. Typical of my kind, I carry my young in a pouch, aka the back seat of my car. He was protected from this attack by his Nintendo DS. Which means he never even looked up.

I regret only that I didn't take the opportunity to run over one of the demon cones.

In the past six weeks, construction has popped up everywhere. Like weeds in my lawn. And just about as random. It's that time of year. Construction breeds in these conditions. Why tear up the streets and then do nothing for weeks on end in the cool of the winter, when you can tear up the streets and then do nothing for weeks on end in the blazing heat of a Mojave Desert summer?

My favorite is when the demons close lanes, tear huge trenches in the road for several hundred feet, then cover the holes with gigantic metal plates, the sharp edges of which are "smoothed" with sticky black asphalt. It turns the smooth ride of your Honda CR-V suspension into a wagon-train ride. It's like driving your car down a flight of stairs. It turned my son's McDonald's chocolate milk into butter. If you hate the wheel alignment on your car, or if you hate the fillings in your teeth, you should drive northbound on Valley View from Sahara.

I think this plague came to torment us because of the "Right Lane Must Turn Right" sinners at Sahara and Paseo Del Prado. Nobody obeys that sign. Ever. Note to Las Vegas City Council: The "cash cow" for all your budget problems is right there. Park a motorcycle cop behind the bank sign just west of that intersection. Easy pickings.

How to appease the gods? How do we stop the Plague of Construction? Hmm. Maybe we tie a virgin to one of the orange barrels. Or maybe we turn loose a couple of lions in hopes they will eat the construction workers.

I'm open to your ideas.

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Las Vegas Psychiatry and the author of "Human Matters: Wise and Witty Counsel on Relationships, Parenting, Grief and Doing the Right Thing" (Stephens Press). His columns appear on Sundays. Contact him at 227-4165 or skalas@reviewjournal.com.