The Walker Sloan Memorial Blog

Continuing my previous blogs theme of pathetic driving practices in this great city; as corroborated by Orlando’s many dubious distinctions in regards to pedestrian safety and number of roadway accidents with serious injury. I thought it might prove helpful to check in with someone who once embodied the driving “ideal...”  for Orlando. 

Observe (Orlando's Best Driver):

         Mr. Walker Sloan, of the contrivedly ironic name, was Orlando’s greatest driver. Let’s see if we can figure out why. After a quick inspection of his car, nothing leaking, no tires appeared low, he pulled out onto his street from his driveway. (He intentionally did not signal as he lives on a cul-de-sac and no other cars or neighbors stirred.) As he approached his corner, he scanned both sides of the street for movement and turned on his signal. Seeing none, he came to a stop ¾ of the way through the crosswalk pattern painted onto the street; also intentional. This being his long adopted strategy to assure a far enough line-of-sight up the cross street. Clear, both ways. (He checks to see what might be crossing the side street onto which he was turning. Also, clear. (Ah, it seems we have synced-up, in time, with Mr. Sloan on this auspicious commute, let us rejoin him as:) He turns, then repeats the “scan, signal and (technically illegal) stop” at the next intersection. This time, intending to turn left. But before he can turn, he must wait for a truck to pass by which is rumbling down the street from the right. There is also a bicyclist approaching from the same direction on the sidewalk which his (illegally?!) stopped car is now blocking. Walker checks his rearview (nothing) and backs out of the crosswalk, allowing the bicyclist (who throws him a thumbs-up) to pass by unimpeded. Had a car been behind him the bicyclist would have just had to stop or pass in front of his vehicle in the oncoming traffic lane while, in this alternate scenario probably flipping him off or shooting a withering glare.)   He scooches-up again and rechecks traffic. Clear. He turns.  There is a light at the next intersection with a left turn lane and he enters it now, turning on his signal. While waiting at the light behind that same truck, he takes a moment to check his dashboard: fuel (about a third of a tank,) no other “idiot lights” blinking; conditions optimal. He then adjusts his rearview and checks his side view mirrors, noticing the driver side is askew and showing some road side trees instead of (on the mirrors right side) The lane-view  immediately to the right of  his rear, quarter panel... fixed. Looking up he notices that the light has turned green but the truck in front of him has not moved. He waits. One Mississippi, two Mississippi. A quick tap on the horn and things get rolling. This is where it gets tricky. (But not for a pro like Walker!) He can not see in front of the truck and must be particularly cautious. The large vehicle before him at first needs both lanes to complete his turn but almost immediately settles into his place in the right lane. Walker turns directly into the left lane and almost immediately double-taps his horn to let the driver of the truck know where he is.  At this moment his phone begins to ring (playing a clip of Macy Gray's "It Ain't The Money") which, almost instantly, is transferred to his earpiece. “Decline.” He announces;  the call is sent to voice mail. Walker has a clear lane ahead but the truck is struggling to build up speed and Walker cannot see around it. He brings his car only as far as the back of the cab and slows to match the truck’s negligible momentum which in the next moment becomes a full stop. Walker immediately follows suit. Sure-enough, from up ahead, a woman darts out from in front of the truck with a little toy poodle in tow. She snaps her head towards Walker as a eyes widen and a grimace contorts her face. Walker smirks at this, and waves her on. She still appears peeved after safely making it to the median. Ensconced on this narrow islet she scoops up her trembling little frou-frou companion. (The dog stares at her as if wishing he were shirted and a Muslim so that with the alacrity of a tear and thrice-repeated profession he could be free of Ms. Poop-For-Brains once and for all.) The driver of the truck has rolled down his window and extends a thumbs up to Walker who bops his horn in receipt of the compliment. The next intersection, a consistent source of  dark amusement to Walker. He briefly wonders as he approaches if any studies have been done on the psychological intricacies of the daunting "Four Way Stop." Perhaps, psychological traumas would be more accurate. It seemed that for many of the people who arrived at this Minotaur's Maze, any measure of common sense is abandoned right along with free will. Walker laughs every time he sees two cars approach simultaneously -- and freeze. Even if they are travelling in opposite directions and neither is signalling a turn (a justifiably, unreliable indication of their ultimate intentions) they stutter-stop and and go as if miscalculation signified certain doom. Walker had no such issue with the Four-way and on this occasion must wait for one little mouse to finally leave its hole and pass in front of him until he can make his left. 

         If on a side street, Walker is consistently scanning for colorful motion, shadows, or sneakered feet of children that might dart out from between parked cars. In parking lots, he always double taps his horn as he backs out of a parking space to alert pedestrians and other drivers around him that he is on the move. When entering a highway (as he is now) his lights and signal are on as well as are his headlights and he has already scoped out his possible slot to assume his lane which is in a three car length gap between a red Jeep and an older model black sedan… he accelerates. 40, 45, 50 the Jeep passes as he begins to move into his lane he checks his newly adjusted side-view and sees nothing. He then (out of habit) looks over his shoulder. He is surprised to find that the black sedan has closed the gap with no intention of letting him on the highway and is squarely in his blind-spot. “Ass.” Walker's ready indictment as his foot releases the gas pedal. He turns his head to gauge the distance of on-ramp remaining to him. Turning-back, he sees that the sedan’s obnoxious bullying has provided another gap behind it. Again accelerating, he enters into the granny lane of the highway. Walker is not one to linger around groupings of unpredictable (and generally asinine) vehicles. He keeps his signal on. When a car in the sandwich lane has passed and a car in the hammer lane has progressed enough not to collide if it should contemporaneously change lanes, he moves over to the center (sandwich)  lane. His signal remains on. He checks his side view, peers over his shoulder and enters, finally, into the hammer lane. Vroom!  His liberating acceleration, however, quickly impeded by a stubborn infected. Either runner or ambler; both road-zombies. He can not say for certain which is worse.  Amblers move along only peripherally aware of the intricate ballet of machines around them. Runners are vindictive and purposefully seek to supplement their anemic power bases through a passive aggressive exertion of will on those that might seek to circumvent them. As Walker's Challenger comes up menacingly behind this particular stick-in-the-mud, (at a purposely high rate of speed with headlights glaring)  the driver's initial reaction will usually inform him as to which camp of  "infected," they fall.  He observes the driver's head incline slightly to glance in their rearview and can almost feel the negative energies being reflected at him; when the car stubbornly does not get over and instead slows to allow a sandwich lane vehicle to pull alongside -- Walker knows he is dealing with a runner. Twenty minutes later Mr. Walker Sloan is dead.
         Let us now revisit the final moments of an icon: The runner proved only a minimal annoyance for Walker who pulled a four lane pass (two right and two back, left) before the runner could even react. (He thought about flashing his break lights but Walker Sloan is above such petty display. This, finally, allowed him the open road necessary to enter his comfort-zone of  about 80 mph. This lasted for a little over ten minutes until he prudently slowed while passing an, oversized, flat-bed trailer hauling a cargo of,  ridiculously large, industrial pipes. The entire length of which were jostled when the truck sought to recover from a blow-out occurring just as Walker began to pass. Alerted by the sound and the wall moving rapidly toward him, he glanced at his rear-view (mostly with an expectation of confirming an impending rear-end collision) but gratefully, saw no vehicles behind him. Walker braked hard.  His small SUV shuddered as he dropped back behind the truck which was now halfway into the lane he had occupied less than a second prior. A moment later the truck's cab, the driver possibly overcompensating in his attempt to wrestle back control, shot back in the other direction; the flat bed continued on its own, newly established, course and the worse possible path for Walker, He moved his foot to the gas and floored it simultaneously cutting hard to the right but immediately had to begin breaking again as the truck's bed, cargo towering over his vehicles roof, slid by, not much more than  a foot away. It was at this moment he felt a sick clenching in his stomach which in turn incited an inner voice to morbidly announce: "Now you die."  Walker watched a vehicle in the right lane get sent barreling onto the shoulder to avoid colliding with the cab. The bed strained with a soul-wrenching groan against the fifth-wheel coupling as it reached the apex of it's pendulous swing. Mechanics and engineering  insisted it resume it's place securely behind the cab. but physics was having none of it. Walker hears a gun-shot "crack;" followed immediately by two more. Nearly standing on his brake, his car now perpendicular to the lanes, he looked into his rear view as the bed suddenly reversed direction and came for him. A shadow fell. 

         A Sentinel photo shows Walker’s, horrifically unique, Challenger-convertible. Walker, escaped the drainage pipe disaster, certainly shaken but miraculously unscathed.

         As the giant pipe (or pipes)  erased the top half of Walker’s vehicle, Walker’s torso was planted as low as he could go against the passenger seat. The sound was cataclysmic. He bellowed, loud enough to almost be heard over the tremendous cacophony of disintegrating safety glass, shearing metal and bouncing megaton tubes. Then as quickly as it had begun, a duration no longer than six seconds from blow-out to immobility, it was over. He heard nothing, but felt the air all around him; he cautiously rose up from the seat to view a scene straight out of a disaster movie. Mega-pipes strewn about like God’s own game of pick-up sticks. Not conscious of moving or really understanding where he was, shock had quickly set in, sound suddenly rushed back, though drowned out by a persistent "woosh, woosh, woosh," that seemed to originate in his medulla. Walker smelled gas, he undid his seat belt, yanked on the handle and shoved against the misaligned door which swung open with a loud creak and pop. He stumbled from the car, but remained upright. Without time to take even one additional step our hero Walker was crushed against his open door tearing it from it's hinges. In a reverse street luge and a shower of sparks Walker traveled his original path an additional six or seven feet. His last thought was to berate himself for forgetting to switch on the hazard lights before the black sedan made contact a second and final time. The driver, it would later be found, was sexting his girlfriend.

         R.I.P. Mr. Walker Sloan – may you eternally reside where there's no posted speed limit! (And every soul has their own personal lane.)

The following list has been compiled that we might all be able to achieve similarly legendary status of social-responsibility.

In Memoriam: The Walker Sloan Skilled Driver Road Rules

• Do not block driveways or intersections.
• Always use signals. (Always! At least 25 yds. before you make the turn/lane-change! And at no more than 60 yards.)
• Remember pedestrians and bicyclists have the right of way! (Always!)
• Do not change lanes if there is a vehicle alongside you two lanes over that might change lanes also. (Because just as you do, he will too. Murphy’s road-law.) Do so only after you have passed far enough ahead that he will (be more likely to) see you moving over.
• Patience padawan. Don’t be in such a hurry. Whichever lane you think will be faster will grind to a halt once you maneuver your way into it. Murphy’s road-law again, bee-yotch!
• Be courteous, polite, kind… (in and out of your vehicle.)
• Don’t operate your vehicle with a clouded mind – whether by emotional or chemical condensation.
• Don’t be a zombie! Loitering in the left lane is pathetic.(Get your ass over! The left lane is for people who aren't afraid of depressing the gas pedal. “Oooooh, so scary! I don’t want to go the speed limit! I may die.” (There’s more of a chance that you tick someone off and become the casualty of a road rage incident. Either drive the dang car or move over!)
• Don’t leave gaps of more than 20 yards between you and the car in front of you. If this means you will have to accelerate… then freakin’ accelerate! This allows people who are waiting to enter the roadway a facilitated and safer manner of doing so. Speaking of which:
• If you see someone waiting to enter the road at an intersection, on-ramp, or from a driveway and your left lane is available, safely change lanes and let them on the road. It’s amazing to me that I even have to write that – and yet so few people actually do this. (“No! My lane!” Really? WTF peepo! )
• Accelerate onto a highway don’t do the pansy thing where you panic and slow down to 20 mph, then run out of on-ramp. Be assertive, claim your place! (You’re a member of the human race! Unless, that is, you’re a self-driving, Googlebot... no offense!)
• Safely move over to allow the nice people access to the road … (yes, again!)
• Speed is your friend. If you have the room (and a clear line of site of the surrounding roadway) use it to keep away from other drivers. (Arrive alive… and sooner!)
• Speed kills. If you aren’t 100% certain (and you can almost never be) of what might be crossing your vehicles path (because there’s an obstruction; like a truck, or bus, or hedge…) SLOW THE FREAK DOWN!
• If you need to pass an ambler in the hammer lane who refuses to get over after five seconds of driving way to close and flashing your lights. GIVE UP. Relax. They're the ones facing eternal damnation don't implicate yourself as well. 

The saddest part of all of this road infosanity in our city – is that it is all caused by a blatant disregard for the well-being of the other vehicles around us, which (surprise peepo!), have humans inside them! Selfishness – the root of all evils in this world, is at the root of our traffic problems as well.

Last word: Driving is not a game, or a right, it is a serious responsibility and privilege that should at all times be considered and respected as such.

Paul 8/6 – 8/7, 2014