Commuting On A Good Day

If there ever was a beautiful example of the organic back and forth swish-swishing movement of the metropolitan currents, it would be the dance of the commuters within the arteries of the Detroit highway system.

Never before speaking to or knowing one another’s tendencies, we race along (on the good days) weaving among one another passing and rearranging our alignment with a minimum of signals: the Hand Wave, the Blinker, and the F-You, Buddy.

One fellow commuter, inching his way into a lane in front of me and not knowing if there was room hesitated for a moment. In turn I flashed my Brights as if to say, “I see you there. I know that you want in, and there is indeed room, my fellow.” He understood my signal and gave me a Double Fist Pump (A gesture which shows more appreciation than the simple Hand Wave. Think of it as a Hand Wave plus two.)

Then, at 7:45 am, some of us break off from the group and turn East onto the exit for I96, waaaaaay up there, where you can look down onto the hoods of the cars below. Just as we snake along the turn, the sun hits my eyes and I see the silhouettes of the drivers ahead. Two cars in front of me, the driver slaps the visor down. With perfect timing, the driver ahead slaps hers and I slap mine too. If I peeked in the rear-view, I would see only the blinding sun, but I know that the following cars slapped their visor down as well.

We travel on…