ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Wednesday, March 27, 1996 TAG: 9603270015
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-9 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: DEBORAH MOORE CLARK
FOR SOME time, I've been positively baffled by what appears to be a uniquely Roanoke traffic phenomenon: Roanokers don't, won't, can't, shan't merge, not one itty-bitty bit. Why, I ask?
To a wicked city woman like myself, Roanoke is a small town with little traffic, a slow pace and capricious - dare I say, willy-nilly? - drivers. In fact, so calm is the pace in Roanoke, that soon after I moved here nearly seven years ago, I had to go back to Richmond now and again just to play in the traffic. The hustle-bustle of Richmond traffic gave me just the adrenaline rush that driving in Roanoke lacked. But despite its intensity when compared to Roanoke's calm, Richmonders, for the most part, knew how to merge.
I suppose all localities have their own way of doing things. Take Louisville, Ky., for instance. A large metropolitan area, Louisville was a delightful place to live - except for one particular hair-raising habit: Louisville drivers routinely darted out in front of oncoming traffic, only to slow down.
Well, I'm sure everyone has experienced this annoying (and dangerous) driving feat at one time or another, but Louisvillians had their own special slap-bang variety. Especially fond of pulling out at the last possible moment, these drivers would wait ... wait ... wait ... reducing the lead space every possible inch before making their move. Wait . . . no, wait ... now! And just as your car entered the it's-no-longer-safe-for-them-to-pull-out zone, out they came, harum-scarum, helter-skelter, from side streets, alleys, parking lots and driveways, ramble-scramble, holus-bolus, quicker than greased lightning itself ... only ... to ... slow ... down ... to ... the ... slow-est
But Louisville drivers, like the Richmond variety, had no problem merging.
Lest you think I'm putting on airs, with my hoity-toity big-city attitude, let me say I'm just a country girl who's moved around. For two summers while in college, I worked with NASA at Langley Air Force Base in Hampton. Traffic regulations on the base must have spoiled me because when Roanokers fail to merge - or worse, when Roanokers won't allow me to merge - I fume.
Rush hour traffic on Langley Air Force Base was sheer joy: no stop signs, no traffic lights, no flap - only smoothly flowing, fluid streams of graceful traffic. What was the key to this miracle mishmash of collating steel? Merging. Based upon the polite idea of sharing, "one for me, one for you," "first your turn, then mine," cars merged effortlessly at Langley, one car ... then ... the other. Seesaw. Zigzag. Back-and-forth. Coming, going.
Failure to merge at Langley brought sure and certain punishment: a traffic ticket. And with the ticket came, perhaps worst of all, disgrace. Do you think I'm making this up? Ask anyone who's been there.
But why won't Roanokers merge? Everyone in Roanoke knows the unusual intersection at Brandon Avenue and Main Street. Heading northeast on Brandon, Main-bound travelers are generously allowed two left turn lanes at the traffic light. Intended for merging, these two lanes become one on Main Street following the signal. Innocently, one morning en route to the YMCA, I slipped into line in the right-hand lane, car No. 2. The light turned green. First one, then the other, then me ... No!
Dismayed, I could not believe the shilly-shally-to-highty-tighty transformation of these Roanoke drivers. Their insistence upon queuing and my resolve to merge produced an unholy mix of foam and froth. With darting glares and sneers of fuming rage, my eyes screamed, "Let me merge!" Their faces shouted back: "Go to the back of the line, lady!"
Several days later, I regained my nerve and tried again. Holy, moly! Nothing had changed. Morning after morning, I witness the same phenomenon at this intersection: a long line of cars queue in the lefthand lane while the right-hand lane remains virtually empty, except perhaps for one car. Since the right-hand lane protrudes a car length into the intersection ahead of the left, the lead car in the right-hand lane has an usually good chance of merging when the light turns green. But if you're car number four, or three or even two - forget it! "Merge, shmerge!" Roanokers seem to say. But not only do they fail to merge, these mad motorists do whatever it takes to disallow anyone who tries it to alternate in. With almost feery-fary ebullition, drivers tighten the line.
I catch myself wondering - fuming and fussing, wanting to merge - at other Roanoke intersections too. Ever notice the long lines on Virginia 419 at Tanglewood approaching the northbound entry to I-581? This queue often backs up single file to Ogden, leaving the left-hand lane free and clear long before necessary. My heart aflop, I ogle in disbelief. And what about northbound traffic on I-581 exiting onto Hershberger for Valley View Mall? During peak shopping times, traffic lines up for half a mile anticipating this exit. I can't help but ask: Wouldn't a simple merging pattern keep traffic flowing safely and smoothly?
But every time I try, the answer is the same. "Regulations, shmegulations!" Roanokers seem to scoff. "Just go to the back of the line, lady!"
Deborah Moore Clark is a church musician and free-lance writer who lives in Roanoke, but longs for big-city life.
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