volvo statistics.

I've become a traffic sheep. When I first moved here, I ranted and raved about how awful the situation was. Half an hour to go five miles! Ridiculous! However, I have to go those five miles to get to work everyday, and in doing so, I've become complacent and accepting of the situation. I might pout a little, but by and large, I've become an obedient little commuter.

Yesterday, I was fortunate enough to be in the moving lane. I've turned each commute into a traffic pattern experiment, trying to judge how the lanes move given the many factors, including time, distance before an exit, distance after an exit, etc. There always seems to be a moving lane and three other non-moving lanes.

I'm in my moving lane, feeling lucky because I'm traveling on the interstate at a blazing 25 mph. And then The Volvo appears.

I'm in lane two, The Volvo is straddling lanes two and three. The Volvo appears about fifteen feet in front of me. There is no time to account for The Volvo. The only thing I have time to do is to swerve halfway into lane one before coming back into lane two, because the driver of The Volvo decided to notice me and has stopped halfway in lane two. As I'm making my maneuver, I remember to beep, and I beep with vigor. It is only after I'm safely back within lane two's bounds that I think to look in lane one. Thankfully, there is a gap. I'm more than a little shaken as I think about how lucky The Volvo was that I was paying attention to him and how lucky I am that there was no one in that other lane. That would have been at least a three-car pileup right there.

I keep going on my way, keeping an eye out for The Volvo in my rear-view. Lane two has become the lane that does not budge. I move into lane one (after checking, double-checking, signaling). Sitting in lane two, less than half a mile from my brush with The Volvo, there is a blue truck straddling lanes two and three. There is also a Jeep all the way in lane two, and partly in the blue truck. They say history repeats itself, but they never mentioned it being repeated a half a mile away.

I am not a good driver. I've done lots of stupid things behind the wheel and been saved by the lack of other vehicles or the vigilance of other drivers. I consider that to be a pretty average state of things. Given the number of accidents and resulting injuries and deaths, I feel downright lucky to not have had any collisions (Except for the deer, deer don't count!). As I pass by the blue truck and its brand new Jeep attachment, I wonder how I got to be so lucky that there were no cars in lane one. I wonder if the driver of The Volvo wondered how he got to be lucky enough to pull in front of me instead of someone who might not have been able to react.

I believe in statistics, I believe in probability. Every time I don't have an accident, I'm relieved, but feel with a sinking certainty that I will not be so lucky at some point, and statistics will get me in the end. I suppose there are three schools of thought. One is to feel invincible and take your luck for granted. Another is to simply feel grateful all the time that you're still around. Me, I'm in the third group, grateful yet at the same time watchful, because I'm convinced that everyone only gets a limited supply of luck, and I seem to be using all of mine. Somewhere out there is a Volvo waiting to pop out at me when my escape path is blocked.

Of course this view is illogical, as is the related hope that being aware of statistics somehow might make me immune to them. Or rather, both conclusions are too logical for their situations. You can use statistics to examine the past and even predict likely patterns of future accident levels. But you can't really determine your individual future and trying doesn't affect the outcome. All you can do is just take it as it comes, so it goes. And watch out for Volvos.