Now that I’m in the States again I appreciate even more the luxury of American roads, a cup of French roast in hand. I take to the interstate whenever possible, especially now that flying means long lines and removing shoes at airport security. Few other countries are so geared for efficient motoring, I think. One can drive from the Atlantic to the Pacific without encountering a single traffic light. And apart from New York cabbies, American drivers are remarkably courteous. At four-way stop signs, to the amazement of all foreigners except possibly Germans, they politely wait their turns, proceeding clockwise one by one. No need to avoid eye contact here. Often we amiably wave hello.
For all this, Americans are among the most accident-prone automobilists anywhere. I pass fender benders and pileups almost daily, it seems, and read recently that the number of people killed on the nation’s highways is the highest in a dozen years. The most dangerous places in my experience are the deceptively calm and tranquil suburbs, where the speed limit is 30 miles per hour. I’ve been in more near collisions in Bethesda, outside Wash-ington, than on the New Jersey Turnpike.
Perhaps this is because cars in America are so comfortable and easy to use. Drivers relax too much. Especially in the suburbs, they’re always doing something besides driving. Late for work, men shave at the wheel. Women put on makeup. Almost everyone has a cell phone glued to his ear. Some even download e-mails. Teenagers are always fiddling with CD players, playing music so loud it makes the asphalt tremble. I’ve even seen drivers prop newspapers on the steering wheel as they edge up to tollbooths.
The most lethal driver I’ve encountered had a cell phone in one hand and a doughnut in the other. She had emerged wildly around a corner of yet another of those leafy Washington neighborhoods, and how she managed to avoid smashing into my little compact remains a mystery. I’m glad she did, because she was piloting (in the loosest sense of the word) a giant SUV. That’s short for sport utility vehicle, the mini-trucks that have taken over America. You’d think there were no good roads in the country, given the ubiquity of these all-terrain behemoths. Since most are used for nothing more adventurous than hauling groceries or taking kids to school, why do TV ads always show them ripping up a pristine landscape? Maybe just to show us what Corporate America really thinks of wilderness. A bumper sticker has appeared among the more religious anti-SUVers: WHAT WOULD JESUS DRIVE?
I wish Americans would tense up a bit and concentrate. If only they were more like Germans with their superfast autobahns, where there are fewer accidents per car than on the 65-mile-an-hour interstates. But there’s little chance of that, what with the American love of automatic transmission, which hasn’t caught on in most other countries. In fact, coffee-cup holders never caught on outside the United States, either. Now that I think about it, maybe drinking coffee and driving isn’t such a good idea after all.
