Lane Shift

My first intimation that not everything ahead will be smooth sailing is the sign that glowers at me. The moment I see it, my hands tighten involuntarily on the steering wheel.

Lane shift

2,000 feet

Can I handle this? I’m not sure. I’ve already driven through three states. I’ve faced perilously narrow construction cattle chutes, gaper delays of accidents that were probably caused by gaping drivers, driving rain and trucks that refused to stay in the right lane. I took it in stride.

But can I handle the lane shifting on me? I am not sure my decades of driving experience in all conditions and on all types of highways have trained me for this reality. Yet I have precious little time to prepare myself. The signs, in an alarming shade of orange, remind me the moment of truth approaches without remorse or relent.

Lane shift

1,000 feet

Just look at that sign: So serious, so commanding. Aside from the written words, there have been signs with the universal symbols of lanes that drift. I’ve already seen more signs warning of a lane shift that I’ve seen signs warning about a mysteriously closed exit. This must be a big deal. They wouldn’t have so many signs if this were something routine, something any driver can handle, right?

Lane shift

500 feet

That’s one-tenth of a mile. That’s six seconds at the speed I’m going. That’s nothing. That’s everything. That’s enough time for so many thoughts to flash through my brain.

Lane shift ahead

Here we go. No time to look back. Ahead I can see the curve where the lanes shift gently like a wave a child draws in art class. I can see the fresh coat of white dotted lines and how the blacktop stays straight while the lanes move.

Can I handle this? My knuckles whiten as I face my defining moment.