Six Lane Races 

By Merlin Lessler —

I was on a 12 lane, 70 MPH highway the other day, six lanes going north and six lanes going south. The way cars wove in and out was amazing. It was like being at the Daytona 500. 

I did okay, for an old guy. Did some weaving myself, though I felt like I should do what an 81 year-old is supposed to do and go to the center lane, stay there going 45 MPH with my left signal blinking. Just to add a little drama to the symphony between the lanes.

It’s an ugly mess compared to the road trips my sister and I took in the back seat of the family sedan, a 1950 Hudson Hornet, gazing out the window counting cows; cows on her side, versus my side. And reading billboards, 20-feet in the air, and Burma Shave signs at street level. 

There were only two lane roads where we lived in those days. The speed limit was 50 MPH, but you could rarely go that fast for very long. You got stuck behind a truck inching up a hill or a family in a Buick sedan taking a Sunday Drive, and no straight-aways long enough to pass them.

We were never bored; when the cows were gone, we played the Alphabet Game – be the first to spot a letter on a sign, working through the alphabet in sequence. Alice’s Diner” would start you off with an “A.” No matter how far ahead you got, the “Q” would slow you down. The first eagle eye to spot an antique shop usually won, but a “Z” could be a showstopper too.    

Time went by pretty quick, between the alphabet games, watching and counting farm animals, and the odd sites along the way, like a mailbox 15-feet in the air with “Airmail” stenciled on the front. Our dog spent the whole trip with his head out the window, his ears flapping in the breeze. Dad’s arm hung out his window. Mom made sure ours were inside the car. No seat belts, no air bags, no air conditioning.

But we were lucky; we had an AM radio, tuned into a station that played the Lone Ranger and Suspense. The adventure in those days was getting there. I miss it.  

Comments? Complaints? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com.