Impressions from a ride home

Route 95, southern RI; woods, blacktop, and hawks on light poles

It’s a crowded parking lot. If I back the truck out straight and then swing left there will be plenty of room to then go out the way I came in. Why is that guy turning back to look at me? Had I taken his parking spot when he went out to lunch? Well, the space is open now.

The sixties Mercedes for sale is still parked outside the Esso station. It has to have been there at least three years. I wonder if it has that air ride system that used to rot away.

Freeway entrance on the right; not many cars at the driveshaft place next to where I used to work.
I can see the old box truck in the front yard of the shop; being laid off makes me not want to go near the place.

The traffic isn’t that bad as I merge with the right lane of route 95 south.
I’m staying in the second lane at 57 mph … I don’t care who wants to pass me; I’m not putting up with all that merging traffic and disappearing lanes.

I’m getting real hungry… I missed lunch today because of waiting for John to come by to do the well water samples. Maybe I’ll stop at McDonald’s for a couple of hamburgers? No, go straight home. There’s some steak in the refrigerator. I have to eat quickly because I told Ed I would come over to take some pictures for him and maybe fix his camera.

This traffic is pretty light. Another 30 minutes and I’d be caught in the first wave of the rush home.
The truck is a joy to drive. It only has 30,000 miles on it because we have been using the small car. The Civic does 36 mpg.
We’re down to two lanes now. I’ll have to stay to the right. I’m not pushing it to 70 when I only get 16 mpg.

It’s a dark day. Those clouds are almost black. They are a dirty blue.
Three cell towers off to the left, their bases obscured by the tree line. One of them has its red light on.

This huge truck is pulling out from behind me to pass. He’s only feet in front now in the second lane. Will he pull in behind that guy who is 500 yards ahead or pass him too? He pulled in. Surprising, he had the speed.
A state police car is coming up quickly on the outside lane. He’s way back there. I’ll bet that’s what the truck driver saw.

The gray police car is passing me now. He is moving pretty fast.

This is the long stretch. Not much happening and the driving is easy. Maybe I’ll get off and take route three home. It’s slower. But then I won’t pass McDonald’s. I decided to eat at home anyways so that does not matter. Staying on 95 … I’m way past any of the route three exits. There’s the route 102 exit, Alton Jones. We used to take the kids there on busses for field trips. So long ago. Now I live even beyond that distant place.

Dead raccoon in the breakdown lane. He was there yesterday. A really fat one. He had a good life.

Two state police cars in the grass flanking a gray pickup. Both officers are out of their cars. The pickup driver is standing on the grass near the first cruiser. He is in handcuffs … what does the detained man look like?… closer now … a white guy … he is looking forward in the same direction as the traffic flow on 95. He thinks that is where he belongs, not here in cuffs, his good day ended. His hair is swept back like Elvis, a distinct brown color, his jacket is black leather (shiny new). None of this seems to match the baby face. The cops are not close to him. He seems to be standing alone. Are they searching? The license plate on the nearest cruiser is 317. I am past now. How much can you see at 60 mph?

Another dead raccoon on the side of the road just beyond the police and their suspect. His wet and scraggly body is like the closed parentheses to the scene I just witnessed.

Getting closer to my exit now.
There are some very large birds walking around on the grassy area beside the road. Are they large crows feasting on road kill? Too big, might they be vultures? Turkey vultures are ugly. I see them well now. They are turkeys; seven of them. I always count.

Exit 3B. I’m in the exit lane and slowing down. The lake is coming up on the right.
Six minutes to home.

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