Road worrier takes death-defying 120-mile odyssey

One of the more daunting challenges of becoming the Las Vegas Review-Journal's new Road Warrior, other than following in the tire tracks of those who have come before, is getting past the look-this-way, look-that-way, look-this-way-again anxiety that goes with being a chronic road worrier.

That's anxiety as in this city has become too flippin' big, too flippin' ambitious, too flippin' crazy to drive about safely. Which is always my intended objective, even if it's only occasionally yours, or less occasionally, that of the guy or gal in the lane next to us.

Sharing the road in Southern Nevada has changed dramatically since I first steered my canary-yellow '67 Chevy Malibu - with shiny, baby moon hubcaps - into town on Aug. 27, 1977, driving down State Route 5 (Rancho Drive) and pulling into Bingo Palace, now Palace Station, at the end of a 600-plus-mile change of address from southern Oregon.

Suffice it to say that the roads, the traffic and driver sensibility at that time befit a desert town.

Not so today's desert metropolis.

As someone who has spent most of the past 10 years driving primarily to and from work from my home in the northwest valley, with little more than weekly side trips to the neighborhood bank, supermarket and dry cleaner, becoming the Road Warrior requires venturing out onto the pretzel of freeways and beltways that pull Southern Nevadans together into a craze of speeding, tailgating, panicked lane-changing humanity.

Or inhumanity, as is often the case.

So out I went last week. A little more than 2½ hours of nonstop driving, covering precisely 120 miles - crisscrossing and looping the valley one afternoon as if I were tying a Windsor knot with my car. And I lived to tell the tale.

Never mind that a silver Lexus came within 2 feet of clipping my right front end as the driver, apparently a wannabe NASCAR star, decided there was enough room between me and the SUV in front of him to make a hasty lane change on southbound U.S. Highway 95, between Flamingo Road and Tropicana Avenue. At least he signaled, which was something I considered doing digitally in response when I quickly concluded that, nah, he had sped too far in front of me to see how I felt, even if he chose to glance in his rearview mirror for any reaction.

Nor does it appear that most local drivers view those signs warning of double penalties in construction zones as anything more than casual suggestions to dial it down. On one two-mile, westbound stretch of the Las Vegas Beltway near McCarran International Airport, no fewer than 17 impatient drivers passed me as I held firmly to the 55 mph restriction.

And for those law-abiders who stayed with me, that held only until the construction signage - and the coast - was clear. Then it was as if Capt. Jean-Luc Picard gave the command to go from 55 to warp 9. You would have thought they were heading to defend a Starfleet outpost on the edge of the Neutral Zone rather than simply driving to some nondescript location in the west valley.

Admittedly, there's something leisurely about driving the beltway that leads many drivers to become lead-footed. More open lanes in some stretches, especially on the banked west side and in the extreme northeast, where rolling knolls and gentle curves provide an autobahn feeling, can lull one into a false sense of bravado.

I shook my head in amazement as I watched two pickups going at least 85 mph as they vied for beltway supremacy just past Losee Road.

You knew it wasn't the first rodeo for those speed cowboys. The way they were throwing caution out their cab windows, they were fortunate it wasn't their last.

If there was one thing that surprised me, though, in my afternoon trip along the valley's highways and byways, it was the caution that most drivers exhibited on Interstate 15, both southbound and northbound, during early rush hour.

Perhaps it was because there were so many cars in the mix that speeds had to be reduced and signal indicators had to be used, but the real stunner was the courtesy that most people showed their driving brethren when they needed to change lanes.

For instance, the driver of a red Chevy Camaro, traveling south in the right-hand lane of I-15 exiting the Spaghetti Bowl, earned major props for slowing long enough to allow three cars coming off U.S. 95 east to merge in front of her. I'm convinced there's a special parking place in heaven for drivers so accommodating and safe.

Yes, accommodating and safe.

You know, just like your new road worrier ... er, Road Warrior.

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Disclaimer: Lest you think the new Road Warrior to be perfect, there was a time when he would occasionally test the speed limit in his sports car. But at age 56, he has successfully made it through his man-opause period.

If you have a question, tip or tirade, send an email to road
warrior@reviewjournal.com. Include your phone number.