So the odometer in my car just turned over 88,888 miles. The thing that makes this rather notable is that my car is nearly 20 years old. So yeah, I guess you could say I drive conservatively.

In more ways than one. I wait until I have a really good reason to drive and am somewhat zealous about combining errands and if I can walk, I prefer that mode of transport.

I’m also a bit obsessive over vehicular safety. I chose this one — a Volvo wagon — because of its safety features. I plan to drive it as long as it will run because I can’t afford a new one with the same level of protection. 

I also drive the speed limit, I’ve never really seen the need for speed. Well, except for that one time I drove Blaine to the ER because I thought his shunt was sticking outside his brain and skull, but that’s another story for another time. And the time I took a car up to 120 miles per hour for six seconds on a lonely very straight stretch of Montana highway. But there was no speed limit, so it doesn’t count.

It’s rather surprising that I have pretty much less than zero interest in cars. I mean, my brothers are legends at the dirt track in the town where I went to high school. I’ve done my best to support them in their field of interest by sitting in the stands while very loud driving machines go as fast as they can in circles, casting generous layers of soil particles on loyal fans and unwitting spectators. But as far as car identification goes, I can’t really get beyond color. My niece had to explain what a muscle car was when she said she bought one. 

I bring this up because I recently had an odd encounter here on the North Beach. This is an area with a very wide variety of speed limits. I mean, they can change every hundred yards or so, it seems. (This will be a future topic of my reporting, as it deserves its own standalone feature.) And there’s me, dutifully reducing or increasing my speed accordingly. There are times I appear to be alone in this endeavor. And yes, I get passed a lot. Especially on Ocean Beach Road. And I guess Highway 109, too, and would probably happen more often if there weren’t so many very sharp blind curves. Not that that discourages some drivers.

Sunday afternoon was a case in point. We passed through a 25 mile per hour zone, then hit the 40 mph section, which I accommodated. While doing 40, I noticed a huge navy blue pickup — the kind with the front that looks somewhat battering rammish — rapidly approaching me in my rear view mirror. It caught up with me just as I reached the next 25 mile per hour section, one with flashing lights and a sign that shows your actual speed for the world to see. I was at 26 mph when I passed it, which I learned in driver’s ed class is more than close enough.

The pickup kept getting closer, and pretty soon I was pretty sure I was about to get a colonoscopy. Then he started honking at me. I was truly baffled. I knew he couldn’t be heading to a fire because he was traveling away from not toward the fire station. I may have slowed down, because I think he’s probably warning me that something is desperately wrong with my car. Like maybe a wheel has come off and is careening toward the Pacific Ocean? Since I was turning off onto a side road in about 30 yards, I put on my turn signal and kept going. As I turned, I could see in my mirror that he rolled down his window and yelled something at me. It was wasted cuz I couldn’t hear what he said, but it was clear he was mightily aggrieved. With a very angry face. Not unlike certain emojis. Like maybe this one: 😠 Or this one: 😡   Except his face was white, and he wore glasses and a mustache. I got a good enough look at his face that I could pick him out in a crowd. Not that I want to.

But have questions. You mad, bro? Cuz you seem mad. Why? 

What exactly was my sin? Is there a general rabid resentment of speed limits among the local populace? Are individuals who obey them considered enemies of the people? Are some speed zones hated more than others? Did he have a gun? Was I in mortal danger? Do I need to learn to be a scofflaw and ignore road signs to be accepted here? Are classes available? Do I even have a future on the North Beach? Only if I stay off the road? How exactly did the people who follow the rules get to be the bad guys?

And most of all, how can bros who get to live next to the ocean get this 😤 ? 

Update: After writing the above, I was able to consult one of my local sources. OMG I love my local sources. They explain things to me I would otherwise have to wonder about until the end of time or interrupt dinner conversations with ridiculous questions like, “Why do restaurants here always put shredded cheddar and jack cheese on small house side salads?” And he was indeed able to shed some light on things. 

It does appear there might be some generalized resistance to speed limits hereabouts, because he said he sometimes causes impatience when he slows down in reputed speed traps, aka 35-mph-zones on highways. I wonder if it’s part of a certain anti-government sentiment I see represented sometimes, like the local sheriff announcing on Facebook he wouldn’t be enforcing certain gun laws.

My local sources also clued me in on a certain special local resentment of the particular section of reduced speed travel where my experience happened. It’s a speed zone where there didn’t use to be one until construction of houses began only in 2006 but has now grown into a settlement of around 350 homes. “Some of these guys think this is a playground for the rich,” my original local source explained. “And they trash talk it to death…. Until they get a job here,” he added with a chuckle.

I promise I was not sent here to annoy the people of north beach. But it seems to come easy for me.