No Hug in the HOV Lane

On Long Island, when the going gets tough, motorists will do whatever it takes to keep going. Dusky summer Sundays are such a time, when the western Nassau County exits of the LIE become thick with cars. Traffic moves in fits and starts. But it's at times like these, while ambling along The Expressway, that being in the thick of things yields fascinating glimpses into the local driving headspace. As Interstate 495 wends its way along the periphery of what once were the grounds of gracious estates, motorists break with frenzied caution, as limited sight distances prevent high-speed confidence. Skittish and uncertain, we worry about the road we can't see ahead as we would about our children roaming Manhattan alone late at night.

In the left-most lane, riddled with restrictions on weekdays, those of us who thought we could one-up the thousands hobbling by in three unrestricted travel lanes to our right, are bested by broken busses or scared old ladies with a tendency to drift. Unwilling to let the ineptitude of others stand in their way, frustrated HOV riders willy nilly shove their way into non-HOV lanes, crossing thick, bold white lines with hapless abandon. Fine + 3 Points. Others in the hulking HOV lane try to accelerate like lusty bulls, or Valkyries charging toward Valhalla. With nowhere to go, they halt, looking bruised as rebuffed parents being told that IPI, AP, and other honors courses are not available for their children. As this Macadam madness ensues, I have no choice but to slow down, to watch in horror, to dismiss some back-of-mind interest in MORE police oversight, and take over from the long, strange road down which iPod shuffle has taken me.