Driving in Phoenix
I trained in Dallas traffic. I grew up with some of the shortest freeway entrances in history. I regularly commute in Austin — I’m used to bad traffic. I respect Houston drivers.
In San Antonio, I’m quite prepared for the unexpected — since it has happened to me. Bad drivers, and maybe I’m one of them? But bad drivers don’t scare me.
Phoenix, in rush hour, is whole different story. Surface streets, themselves, where the right-hand lane is the fast lane? Used for passing at twice the speed limit?
Must admit, I appreciate trying to double the posted limit, but seriously, seems a little over the top aggressive — especially when the roadways are clogged with cars.
Driving in Phoenix
Pulling into one baseball lot in Tempe, maybe Mesa, Scottsdale, I’m not sure, but pulling into one lot, a cop was directing, and then he yelled at me, “Use your blinker!”
Why?
No one else did.
Blinkers, turn signals, and common courtesy?
Strictly optional — apparently.
Driving in Phoenix
Simply aggressive driving. Like, riding right up on my tail; no offer to buy me dinner. The speed limits, strictly a number posted on the side of the road, and it also showed up in the on-board, heads-up display, those purported, posted limits.
On one freeway, suddenly, everyone was going 55, limit was supposedly 70, and at 70 MPH, I was passed several times, like I was standing still then, over an imaginary township line, and suddenly the limit hadn’t changed, but the attitude did.
No rhyme, no reason.
Not complaining, merely observing.
Driving in Phoenix
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