Here’s a Throwback Thursday post of a blog I did somewhere around 2010:
One of the nastiest hazards of country living is playing Frogger (remember that arcade game from the 80’s?) with all the critters that try to cross the roads, only this time I’m not the frog, I’m the ginormous semi getting ready to flatten their hoppy/crawly asses.
If you’re not trying to dodge the actual varmint as it debates “which way do I go, which way do I go?”, you’re swerving to avoid the lumpy bloody carcasses of the 50% that didn’t guess the right way. I mean really, do you want bits of blood-clotted fur and sinew stuck between your tire treads?
And if that isn’t enough, you also have to be on the lookout for the good-ole boys in their pick-up trucks held together by Bondo and duct tape that think the painted double lines in the middle of the road are just a suggestion. Either that or they’re pretending that they’re in England and driving on the wrong side of the road (which is highly unlikely that any of them even know who/what/where England is, much less their driving rules).
All that is bad enough to be aware of while driving the rural routes, but this week since school started and I’m back out on the roads at the butt-crack of dawn, there’s a new threat to redneck road safety: Blue-Haired Walkers (not to be confused with Blue Tick Hounds). There’s not one, but TWO of these ladies that think its a good idea to get their daily exercise by walking on roads that have no sidewalks and an 8-inch shoulder that drops off into ditches that are the catch-alls for every can, bottle or engine part that flies out of Bubba’s truck.
I’m wondering if I should call the County’s Dept. of Mental Health Services because these geriatric trekkers are clearly out of their minds.
Grannies…PLEASE do us all a favor! Go down to the shopping center for your speed-shuffling. Its about a mile around the parking lot and there, you have a really good chance (though not 100% mind you) of NOT getting a concussion by a side-view mirror or a broken hip from a brush-back fall into a drainage ditch. Plus, you never know where rednecks draw the line with roadkill on country roads. You might find yourself tied to a hood, taken home, skinned and turned into jerky.