I used to like cruising along U.S. 1 with windows open and music playing. The road overlooks the Indian River Lagoon and is dotted with small harbors. But now that U.S. 1 is part of my daily, 40-minute commute to work, I no longer feel that sense of wild abandon.
For those of you unfamiliar with jobs and salaries in small Florida towns, the situation is like this. We accept the trade off of local jobs and low salaries. We don’t commute well. Until now, my commutes have ranged from a 10-minute walk to a 10-mile drive. With the recession, however, most of us feel happy to have a job, even if it means a commute.
The traffic varies from day to day. Most times the early morning traffic is heavy. But on a rare day when no one is on the road, I begin to wonder whether everyone took the day off and went to the beach. Today, cars, rock trucks, semis and buses vye for lane space. Curb-side sprinklers hit the car. I hope to miss the train (the 7:20 a.m.), which has 88 cars.
7:15 a.m. I leave the house. Seven stoplights later, I pass Beck’s Natural Medicine, which advertises seminars—Franken foods, stress or weight gain. Nance Cacciatore personal injury lawyers has a lighted board gives the time and temperature. This morning, it’s a breezy 75 degrees. The quiet harbor in the Ballard Park area behind the Brevard Auto and Truck Center punctuates the hustle and bustle of traffic. The Eau Gallie causeway and beaches beckon. What if I just spent the day on the beach. . . . would anyone notice?
Years ago, I had a similar feeling. I rented one room in an old building in Nice, France, and I commuted to IBM at La Gaude. Traffic snaked inland for kilometers along a switchback road. In the background were the snow-capped Alps. Then, like now, I wondered, “What if I just kept driving. Would anyone notice?” When I reached the main entrance of the company, the thoughts had all but evaporated.
7:27 a.m. I pass a pesticide company where numerous small, yellow cars sport black mouse ears and tails. On the other side of the road is a local mover, one that used to have my phone number posted in bold letters on its billboard. This mistake got me lots of early morning calls from clients who wanted to schedule moves. It could have been an opportunity to change professions, but instead I complained. There’s the Burger Inn, which advertises curb service from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. Further on, the Pineda causeway offers the last chance to escape to the beaches on the barrier islands.
7:35 a.m. A osprey nest hangs over the road near the River Rocks restaurant. Just beyond stoplight number 15, tanker trucks emerge from nowhere and tilt precariously as they enter the passing lane. White and blue commuter vans whiz by, giving their occupants a white-knuckle ride. Cyclists ride on the edge of the road to access Riverside Drive, a road with older homes overlooking the water. Cars and trucks shift to the left lane to avoid missing the Barnes Road exist, an access to I-95 and my office. I need to be in the left lane when I pass the Harvey’s Groves sign with the large orange.
7:50 a.m. I’ve hit most of the 16 lights. I have memorized most of the billboards and businesses in both north and southbound lanes. McDonald’s coffee. Bud Light with 99 calories. An unsolved homicide. Memorial gardens. A Mexican restaurant. The marinas and RV sales.
At this stoplight, a billboard at the angle of the road advertises chiropractic services for those injured in car accidents. By now I have all but forgotten the beach, and it’s overcast anyway. I am sure that once I begin my editing job. . . those beach thoughts will dissipate. But then again, maybe not. . . . Geez, the parking lot is empty. Where is everyone!
