The Driving Game

Some of you may remember a competition that would occur each day in suburbanland. The Guys called it The Driving Game. The rules were quite simple.

1. Pass as many cars as you possibly can
2. Do not get passed

In general, points were assigned singularly for each pass. Add a point when overtaking, deduct a point when overtaken. Occasionally, additional points could be made or lost due to extreme driving skill or lame-ity. The object of the game, of course, was to be in the black whenever you got to wherever you were going.

With just a little practice, and a little nerve, it was an easy game to win. City traffic was large and four-lane roads were common, so a skillful weave could rack up scores of points in little time. Of course, using the merging lane for a big pass was common, the mainline traffic would always yield. I had not played the Game in many years (I got a “couple” of speeding tickets back in those days). Then I experienced Life in the Tropics. Here, the Game is played by masters. Competition is fierce. Base scores are much lower.

Contestants – The TAXIMAN
Scourge of the roadways. Watch for the red of his license plate in your mirrors.

The MINIBUS DRIVER
Endangering up to 15 at a time.

The CITIZEN
Often times has a nice car. Do not expect it to remain that way.

The CONSULTANT
As many as 17 Mitsubishi horses propel this diesel powered foreign invader.

Course - Traffic volumes along the A1 Highway average six thousand vehicles per day just west of Montego Bay to three thousand vehicles per day at Negril. The road is two-lane and undulates both vertically and horizontally. The vegetation wants to take it back, but passing vehicles keep the bush contained to the edge of pavement. The playing surface, then, is roughly seven meters wide. Assuming a car is stopped at the edge of the slab for no apparent reason, this is still a two-lane road,... just two really narrow lanes.

Pavement markings and signage (locally, “road furniture”) are a joke. This is probably just as well. If no passing zones were marked, they would be ignored. Speed limits are rarely posted. They are usually set at 50 kph in town and 80 kph in the country. Where one stops and the other begins is anyone’s guess. General rule - go as fast as you can.

Hazards - The Pedestrian/Hitcher/Higgler. These folks are everywhere, constantly violating what we learned while earning Hiking Merit Badge; walk in a group against traffic with a reflective cloth tied around your ankle. The ‘tropical produce sales centers’ so closely abut the pavement that any mistake could give you a windscreen covered with ackee. On the bright side, there are plenty of beer shacks available for, er,… refueling.

The Bicyclist/Scooterboy. No regard for their own lives. If I were to ride here, I would need a large motocross machine with a really loud horn.... and kevlar duds. With machine guns, it could be just like David Carradine’s destructocycle in “Deathsport".

The Ice Man. I usually score a point or two passing the ice man in the morning. Electricity does not always make it to the (relative) boondocks. Blocks of ice are produced in the larger towns and transported to the various beer shacks and restaurants (food shacks) in a flatbed truck, unwrapped and covered with a tarp. Sometimes, the truck stops for a delivery. Sometimes it just slows while the labor leaps to the ground, delivers the ice chunk, and races to catch his coworkers. Will it come to a complete stop? Jah knows. Is it safe to pass? Jah knows that as well, but he is not talking.

The Taximan. Stops on a ten dollar coin. Has no brake lights.

The Minibus Driver. See Taximan. The problem with both of these is that the particularly aggressive ones will stop in front of you, drop off a fare while you pass, then pass you again on their way down the road. In this way, you can lose points to the same guy multiple times in the same round.

The Ever-changing Rules of Yielding. One iteration is this: if you are on the mainline, it is acceptable, and sometimes encouraged, to stop suddenly and back up traffic while someone enters the traffic stream from a sideroad or driveway.

Cattle. The adults are not so bad, but the calves are more skittish and random.

Goats/Pigs/Dogs. Hard to see. Are they feral, or will someone miss them if they do not come home?

Dumbasses. I mention the donkeys because this just happened on the drive home. It had rained in the afternoon, so the pavement was slicker than usual. A herd (pod?) of burros was crossing the road. The last one freaked and actually fell on his ass 15 meters in front of my rapidly decelerating Dogwagon.

“Dumbass”, I remarked.

And, of course, the largest hazards are the People Playing the Game in the Opposing Lanes.

Rules - Repeat after me, “What traffic cop?”.

Strategy – Know your power curve.
Use road hazards to your advantage.
Fear nothing.
Do not die.

The choice to play is not mine to make. If you do not play, you lose time and gain aggravation. I am in the game, regardless, every time I start the vehicle. To my benefit, attitudes formed by the sedate Iowa driving I used to do have rapidly been swept away, replaced by the offensive Chicagoland driving habits I thought I had lost. Soon, I will drive worse than a Jamaican.

GAME ON!

But remember, “The more you drive, the less intelligent you become” [Repo Man].