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Thursday, 03 April 2008 |
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Up Close and Personal
By Clint Hyde I turned onto Old Mammoth Road at Snowcreek. The speed limit is 40 mph, so it didn’t surprise me that the white delivery truck started getting so close behind me that I could read the expressions on the faces of the driver and passenger. I could tell they were wearing some kind of company uniform so I knew they worked together. The driver looked anxious and I assumed he was behind in his delivery for the day. Normally I don’t want to hold up commerce. After all, it takes forever to get things delivered in Mammoth, but I also don’t care to contribute to the local constabulary fund. I haven’t had a moving violation in more than 20 years and if I am going to get one it had better be for a good purpose. I was in no hurry to get to the Mammoth Times office, the Post Office and then Stellar Brew. I may be busy, but I live in a resort town where I don’t fight traffic and encounter road rage.
As I approached the corner of Old Mammoth and Mammoth Creek Park, I began to worry that the driver would soon need to get the bike rack on the back of my Jeep surgically removed from his truck grill. So I conveniently pointed to the 25 mph sign on my right. The truck driver responded with a finger or two. Maybe he just waived it so fast it looked like a number of fingers, but I really think it was the one finger designated as the international sign of disgust for your sexual preference. I slowed to 25 mph and the truck got even closer. Since I was close to my first stop I did not speed up to avoid a collision. I barely made the left turn into the parking lot when I was startled to see the white truck turn into the same lot. As he drove by I got a full side view and determined there was no company name on the truck. I was relieved to see these uniformed road warriors circle the lot and turn back up Old Mammoth. I guess I avoided getting or receiving a lecture on road manners.
The next motoring adventure was the Post Office. The pattern of in and out by locals who are swooping in to get the mail is well choreographed. Occasionally a visitor will try to approach the mail snorkel to drop letters from the car window and this throws those of us who know where we are going into a discordant loop. It’s especially disruptive when they try for the passenger side, since they are angling into the inbound traffic. And there is the dance of pedestrians trying to be polite while leaving their cars to cross traffic into the building. A few years ago I mistakenly convinced myself I was in a hurry and drove through this area too fast. I was so ashamed when I got out of the car that I apologized to the pedestrian I harassed. I must have thought I was in L.A. or Seattle or somewhere difficult.
My fresh copy of TIME Magazine in hand, I went over to Stellar Brew for a cup and the best carrot cake muffin in town. The sun was blazing in at just the right angle to enjoy the deck outside and I settled in for some refreshing moments with my news and brews. One of those king cab, king sized pickup trucks pulled up right next to me in the handicapped parking space. The driver was preoccupied with his cell phone conversation and left the motor running. It took several minutes for him to finish and when he jumped down and out of the cab, heading for the door of the coffee shop, the motor was still running. By now the flavor of my muffin had changed and my mood was close behind. In the nicest voice I could find I asked the driver to turn off his truck. He was polite and turned back to comply, but with no apologies. I guess we agreed to disagree without being disagreeable.
Getting back onto Main Street or, as Caltrans refers to it, Hwy 203, is always a challenge in the busy time of year. In the spring or fall you can strain your eyes looking for traffic, but when everyone is in a hurry to get to the slopes or back onto the L.A. freeway system, the 35 mph sign doesn’t register in the mind. At 50 mph it must look like a speed "advisory," not an actual limit. Sometimes I pretend I am driving for UPS and can only make right turns, never needing to cross lanes or tangle with oncoming traffic. I don’t recommend that in Mammoth unless you really know your way around the back roads.
While getting onto Main my cell phone rang. Since it was a phone number I didn’t recognize I didn’t answer it. They never left a message so it must have been a wrong number. I am practicing for the day I get a hands-free phone for my vehicle so no one can see I am on the phone, but then I will be afraid to answer it with my voice and miss my right turn. Beginning next year when the authorities will consider driving while cell phoning "inattention to driving," we won’t know who is paying attention and who is using their hands-free system. After all, cars don’t cause accidents, bad drivers do.
Clint Hyde left home at an early age and lived in Europe before traveling the rest of the world, working in international marketing. He moved to Mammoth in 2002 to pursue mountain biking, snowboarding, backcountry and cross-country skiing, hiking and backpacking. The views expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily represent policies and opinions of the staff or owners of the Mammoth Times. Reader response is encouraged.
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Last Updated ( Thursday, 10 April 2008 )
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