Road Rage, Sport of the New Millennium by Roger C. Haynes Another trip to NY is in the record books. A couple thousand more miles on Big Hoss with no more problems than burning up a headlight switch, with the odometer kicking over 216,000 right after my return to Concord. (What a machine!) Meanwhile, the two week working vacation in NY was well worth the effort, however, in traveling these days you must be ever aware of the new sport on Americas highways, "Road Rage"... As recently as 1997 bumper stickers starting showing up on cars that read: "Keep honking - I'm re-loading!" Funny??? Is it... When did it become law that driving was an entrance ticket to the war zone of rage? There are dozens of different sparks that ignite the rage. My pet peeve is the man (or woman) who will watch you coming down the road at them, and just before you get to them, they pull out. (&!%#@!!!) You all have been there, the next thing that happens, their left turn signal comes on and they turn left after waiting for several more cars to pass. Your motion comes to a stop, sometimes your heart in your throat with their reasoning, "Hey, it's my road too!" Yes, friends,,, on May 23rd, I fell victim to the rage. While driving home from the Clarence Flea Market I was on Clark street in Hamburg NY, my 'ole home town, when a young lady hit her brakes slightly, then pulled out a driveway, right in front of Big Hoss, who was minding his own business and doing a very legal 35 MPH. "Jerk!", "Idiot!", what to do... I didn't hit the brakes, but drifted up right behind her after letting off the gas. After getting close enough to count the flakes of metallic in her paint job, I noticed three little heads of hair lined up in the back seat. I tapped the brakes and backed off just as she hit her signal and turned left, honking and barking at me. "Sorry Lady!" I was giving her my best big toothy grin... I headed up to ZJ's to enjoy a good meal and see if Jeff's Chat Room was open, (that's another story) but had put the episode behind me until something else happened the next day that I thought was worthy of this story. At 6:30 Monday morning I had just left my campgrounds at the Topps Market on South Park and drove down to the car wash to vacuum out the front of Hoss. Monday morning, although Road Rage is a 24-hour a day sport, going to work on Monday would seem to put gas on the fire. Just up the road from the car wash is the Buffalo Raceway entrance on South Park Ave. A business route through Blasdell and into the South part of Buffalo. The players for a good game of Road Rage were there. The burley construction workers in their salt infested pick-ups, the schoolteacher in a snazzy Camaro as well as an 18-Wheeler full of goods for the local Pizza Hut, along with a dozen more cars. I had finished my chore and was waiting to pull out on the road, realizing the traffic can "zip" in this 45-MPH section. But What the hey... They're all stopped! Nobody is moving. The light just down the street is green, but everyone is frozen in time by the looks of it. There are no horns honking, no single digits (half a peace sign) waving in the air, what ever could be the matter!!! I paused to investigate... Just up the street at the Buffalo Raceway and Erie County Fairgrounds, there is a test track for harness racing horses, it has a large pond in the center that has become home for dozens of big beautiful Canadian Geese. On this chilly May morning, some of the Mother Geese had taken their babies out for a stroll and were crossing South Park near the car wash, for whatever reason I'll never know. However, all the players for a good game of road rage were stopped dead in their tracks to watch the little waddling creatures as they took their time to cross the road. There were no upset people, time had stopped until the procession reached the other side.... Sigh.... Perhaps the next time you're cut off by an 'ole coot, or a young squirt driving a $35 car with a $6,000 sound system, you should remember this story. Life goes on and road rage is dangerous. Anyone can find themselves swept up in it. It takes a better person to turn the other cheek. When you do, politely wave your hand and let them have their way, then under your breath and out of earshot of the children you say "!&%~$$#@*!!!" (Please be careful on the way to Chattanooga...)