Parking: now, there's the ticket!

What is it about parking on your driveway (as opposed to driving on a parkway?)

This isn't a rant, or at least it's not intended to be. There's always the possibility that it will turn into one.

The fact is, however, that the world divides into two types of people: those who, when they come over to your house and notice that your car is parked in the driveway, blithely park behind you, and the (very few) others who don't.

Think about it. In our situation, we have a long, very narrow, single strip of tired old asphalt that accommodates three cars, but we only have two. So when someone comes over, sees a parking space behind the second car, they have a decision to make. For most, that is easy, apparently. Nature abhors a vacuum.

Here's the thing. There are no parking prohibitions on our street. It's a long, dead-end avenue, filled with houses populated mainly by older people and younger families, many of whom have only one vehicle. There's room in front of our house, and our neighbors', to park at least six vehicles. That's more cars than we have friends.

Here's the next thing. My wife's disabilities qualify our cars for handicapped parking. Unlike most, she doesn't put the tag on her mirror unless she's actually in a designated parking space. I have a duplicate tag which I use only when she is with me, or I'm picking her up from some appointment or store. Nevertheless, everyone who visits us knows about her condition. So why, then, would they not assume that I need extra room on the driveway to load the trunk or the back seat with the wheelchair, walker, oxygen tank and whatever else is needed? Sometimes I need to get out and back the car in, to put the passenger door on the easiest side for loading.

Unfortunately, there seems to be a rule around here that if your car is more than ten feet away from the house, it is fair game for vandals. There are street lights, but they are largely concealed by ancient tree foliage. One night both rear doors of my car were keyed in a random spiral pattern. Another time, a brand new front tire was slashed, but that was likely because we were proudly displaying an Obama lawn sign prior to the elections. Raccoons don't carry shivs, so it had to be a message from a political opponent.

In an effort to keep the car from being damaged, I leave it close behind the other one, so that when the vandals appear, the porch light automatically turns on. At least this allows them to complete their masterpieces with less chance of hurting themselves. Bottom line: there is generally a full car length of free space behind my car.

On some occasions, I've maneuvered like a truck rodeo contestant, inching back and forth with much turning of wheels and adjusting of mirrors, to make it out of the three-car trap. This usually ruts the lawn somewhat, but as long as it doesn't happen in the spring, the grooves even out over time.

Let's be clear here: there is no possibility of a double width driveway. The gas and water lines would end up being directly under any such extension, so that in the event of a problem, a Bobcat would be required.

I think there are two influences at work in this whole situation. America's car-centered culture demands convenience. Why have a car if you have to walk more than twenty feet to its doors? Hence, the development of valet parking services, the drive-thru church, the drive-by funeral home, and, of course, the fast food joints.

Apart from the obvious air and noise pollution that occurs while drivers wait impatiently at a window, there is much to be said for not having to get out of a car to go into a pharmacy, especially when you look at the lineup at the dispensary, and the distance you have to travel to the rear of the store to get in line. It's always good to know that the fast-food joints are doing their damnedest to get you fed up faster.

The other influence, sad to say, is thoughtlessness. I never park in anyone's driveway unless there is a good reason, or better yet, an invitation, to do so. Why would I want to inconvenience myself by having to go out to the car (especially in winter) to move it so that the host can get out of his own driveway? Why waste the gas and generate the pollution?

Even if I were carrying, say, a trunk load of concrete blocks, my instincts are to deliver them and then find a parking space elsewhere until it comes time to leave. Who knows? If there were an emergency, wouldn't it be better not to have blocked the paramedics?

But judging from the number of perfectly-abled drivers who pull up into a handicapped parking space, hang a permit from the mirror (or not) and march into the shopping centers, this whole parking thing is never going to go away until the car does.

So I'm sorry, I guess this was a rant after all. I guess I'm guilty of the desire for automotive convenience after all.

Derailing my train of thought

On my way to work a couple of mornings ago, a trip that normally takes about ten to twelve minutes, I encountered conditions that tend to confound the drivers in this area. A light dusting of snow had fallen. Lacking countermeasures, we all drove over each other's tracks which became more slippery with each passing vehicle. Intersections were positively dangerous. Yet not many people got in trouble, because they drove with extreme caution. The one or two who spun out were driving light, fast cars, or at least they were when they started out.

And then there was the train. A four-headed monster with about 150 cars, traveling around 15 miles an hour. This was the second train in two days. The previous day, however, the train was shorter, and the time was around noon, which I regard as preferable to 7:45 a.m. when you need to make it to work by 8. This train, however, stopped on the crossing for five minutes, and since I was the first in line, I had no choice but to observe the rusty side panels and the insignia of the companies within my view.

There must be some law here. Let's see how it might be formulated.

1) The speed of the train at the crossing is inversely related to the urgency of your mission.
2) The amount of snow that falls, multiplied by the number of cars using the roads during that time period yields a number which expresses the scale of certainty that you will be late for whatever you need to do.
3) Preferred times for rail traffic are during morning and evening rush hours.

I think this last one is so because when they run trains at night, they are bound to get more complaints about disturbing the peace than if they run them during the day. And it's obviously much safer during the day, because motorists can see the trains coming. On the other hand, in our city, trains run night and day, so perhaps this rule needs more precise formulation.

It always amazes me how close to the railway right-of-way people build their houses. At a local crossing (when I was a kid I used to think those big crossing signs read "Rail Crossing Way"), there is a house that can't be more than ten feet from the wigwag, which has the World's Most Annoying Bell that pounds continuously and can be heard for about two blocks whenever a train comes. The people who live there must have to strap down the TV and pick the pictures (or the plaster) off the rug. But I bet they got the place for a really good price.

Ah, but there's nothing quite like trying to puzzle out the graffiti on the boxcars and tank cars as they crawl across your field of view, since you're the one driver who couldn't make it across the rails before the bar descended. You may not make sense of this, but you have a feeling that it's the last protest against the totally surveiled society. Is this the handwriting on the wall?

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it

-- Omar Khayyam