Trying to Tell Me Something

Driving to work today on the Anthony Henday, I was trying to make up time with an appropriate increase in velocity. There was light rain falling at the time and Edmonton had received a real soaking last night, so there was some perceptible slickness, but none of that horrifying emulsion I sometimes encounter as I motor past Refinery Row on the east side of the city.

I watched a merging vehicle throw up a huge rooster tail of water from a pool that had formed in the stripey zone. The CBC traffic report noted that there were no collisions or the like, but advised caution. They drew specific attention to the dangers of hydroplaning, which is a term that usually makes me think of times in high school when my friend Kelly and I would look for stretches of road where we could attempt to do this on purpose. I wish I could tell you that this is the dumbest thing we ever did with a vehicle.

At any rate, all these elements orbited my mind, and although I am a rational man who doesn't hold a lot of truck with the supernatural, I began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, the universe was trying to tell me something. I casually looked over the lip of the roadway, and tried to estimate if my current speed would be enough to carry me ballistically across the green belt between the eastbound and westbound lanes and into oncoming traffic. I wondered how long it would take me to drive out of the ditch in my Corolla, having seen trucks sturggle with this in the past. As I mused, I also happened to glance at the track display for the MP3 CD I was playing at the time.

The track title was "Reckless".

Message received; I took a little pressure off the accelerator.