Traffic’s comes in from the south like monsoon; the line up on Montgomery comes to a stop at Jackson, extreme for the time and the season. After Clay street there is no movement whatsoever, only the flag flaps on top of the pole at 101 California with a whiplike thunder.
I eye my way out.. in a left lane my C-max comes to rest between a gray Uber and an armored vehicle, no room to maneuver; what I would need is to somehow gun it across the 3 lanes if an opening were to appear, but would any driver spare an inch of open road in conditions like these?
The C-max is a great vehicle, easily maneuverable through the great swells of San Francisco steepest hills and triple overhead drops, but it’s one weakness is a mediocre turning radius: if I elect to swirl out of my lane I would need at least half a foot. I could then force my way into the next lane with just a show of will, something that was easier to do in my trusty mazda, that sported so many scars that any new prius-yielding uber wouldn’t dare to get anywhere near:it spelled see-if-I-care. But with the C-max I can’t gamble on that, every time the Prius’s shark like fender closes in, I wince, giving away my game. I try the kindess-of-strangers move of leaning out begging for the lane, pretty please, but the Uber is using the no-eye-contact style of communication, so no luck there. Thankfully something break his concentration, most likely a request chiming in, or the seagull sweeping in overhead, and I sail into to necessary half a foot opening like a piranha after a bleeding lamb.
The ride after that is beautiful, transcendental: the next set of lanes is open due to a UPS blocking the right lane few yards back, and I sweep in one with the road, one with the roar of the engines, one with the haze of the exhaust and smell of gasoline, one with the call of the ambulance in the distance. These are the moments I drive for, the moments I return for when conditions are the harshest and the risks ever-present.
I eye my way out.. in a left lane my C-max comes to rest between a gray Uber and an armored vehicle, no room to maneuver; what I would need is to somehow gun it across the 3 lanes if an opening were to appear, but would any driver spare an inch of open road in conditions like these?
The C-max is a great vehicle, easily maneuverable through the great swells of San Francisco steepest hills and triple overhead drops, but it’s one weakness is a mediocre turning radius: if I elect to swirl out of my lane I would need at least half a foot. I could then force my way into the next lane with just a show of will, something that was easier to do in my trusty mazda, that sported so many scars that any new prius-yielding uber wouldn’t dare to get anywhere near:it spelled see-if-I-care. But with the C-max I can’t gamble on that, every time the Prius’s shark like fender closes in, I wince, giving away my game. I try the kindess-of-strangers move of leaning out begging for the lane, pretty please, but the Uber is using the no-eye-contact style of communication, so no luck there. Thankfully something break his concentration, most likely a request chiming in, or the seagull sweeping in overhead, and I sail into to necessary half a foot opening like a piranha after a bleeding lamb.
The ride after that is beautiful, transcendental: the next set of lanes is open due to a UPS blocking the right lane few yards back, and I sweep in one with the road, one with the roar of the engines, one with the haze of the exhaust and smell of gasoline, one with the call of the ambulance in the distance. These are the moments I drive for, the moments I return for when conditions are the harshest and the risks ever-present.