About a week ago I was on my one home an evening. It wasn’t very late but it was very dark. The weather was cold but clear, remarkably clear, and dark, remarkably dark. I was north of home in my little suburban hamlet heading south on a classic dark and windy country road.
It was dark enough I needed high beam lights to see what lurked ahead. It was clear enough I could easily see oncoming traffic as we both neared the many twists and curves in the road. And all concerned politely reduced their lights it low beam lights before making the bend and blinding the oncoming driver. You gotta love people who know driving involves more than “put it in gear and go.”
As I got closer to town, the road straightened and lights mounted high above nicely illuminated the roads, eliminating the need for the super bright high beams. Another mile or so brought some roadside businesses and their lights added to the general brightness.
It was then I saw the blur of white some distance ahead, heading north on the now almost ruler straight road through a little town-let. The blur grew and grew in size and brightness until it became clear that it was ye olde basic pick ‘em up truck with mutilple headlights, fog lights, and even lights across the bully bar over the top of the cab blazing while barreling merrily along, presumably by a backward hat wearing, plaid shirted, scraggly bearded truckster.
There ought to be a law addressing night time driving particularly discussing lights and illumination. Oh wait, there is, actually are. There ought to be people enforcing them.
It’s almost become SOP, ignore the laws that are inconvenient, or the regulation. Throw out the “way it’s always been done,” “doesn’t hurt anyone,” “anyone with common sense would know that.” Do what is right.
Have you ever wondered why I’m so hard on backward hat wearing, plaid shirted trucksters? Little Rosemary is not the first little sports car I’ve owned. I had once had a 1979 Mazda RX7, the second year it was offered. It was about the same size as the later to come Miata but rounder. The year was 1985 and it was stopped at a red light where a large, jacked up pickup truck driven by a (you guessed it) backward hat wearing, plaid shirted, scraggly bearded, beer bellied amateur truckster did not stop at a red light and literally ran up and over the back of the low-slung car. Oh yes, there are laws.
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