Country Roads, Take Me to Gay Heaven

Driving a Miata in a world full of heavier, larger, and more cars than ever is like swimming in a thunderstorm. 

Because of its small size and irresistible cuteness, the Miata draws an absurd amount of attention. Most times its a glance of admiration, but other times, its borderline negligent homicide. 

The fact that SUVs and trucks are the most blood thirsty of them all is no surprise. They are getting larger and larger each year, presumably so the motorist can hit as many pedestrians as possible. They gotta get those high scores somehow, I guess. Is there more to it? 

 

No. 

We all know vehicles that are smaller but just as practical exist, but practicality is far from the whole picture. People want to feel safe and big on the road, no matter what. And when most drivers want to feel that way on the road, it's an arms race. Throw in apathetic, unfeeling automakers happy to satisfy their customers so long as they hand over $60k for the largest Hyundai they got for carrying two small gay men, then it's all over. That's it. Feeling like a big person in charge is the main draw. 

Still, having a frontal blind spot larger than the one in front of an entire fucking tank is not deadly enough, so these drooling, amoeba brained idiots are always bullshitting on their phones. And the especially donkey-brained among them either drive with their high-beams on all of the time, or they use their off-road-only LED light bar rated at 60 watts that sits right at driver-eye level.

 

And what's funny, in a sardonic way, not in a ha-ha sorta way, is that in some corners of the internet, there is a growing resentment towards people that chastise other motorists for posting photo evidence of themselves driving while fucking with their phone. 

The argument is that condemning that lack of social awareness and self-preservation behavior is a "holier-than-thou" play. 

My counterpoint is simple: if you think paying attention while driving is some grand, unattainable virtue-and that calling out people who fail at this basic, easy, legally required task somehow makes the caller feel superior-then you should return your license to the cereal box it came from.

 

I was driving down one of the many country roads in my area after work. The sun shone brilliantly, and the roads are as hot and ashy as my knuckles. I took my favorite country road to the my favorite grocery store. You know the one.

Approaching my left turn on the two lane highway, I slowed to a stop. I could see in my rear view the lifted Jeep Wrangler was not slowing to a stop. I smashed my horn, slammed into first, and pulled forward in time for the hapless nitwit to look up from his Clash of Clans game for two goddamn seconds and swerve onto the shoulder. I wonder what went through his head, how he felt.

This man was going 60 mph, and if he hit me as I sat waiting for my turn, I don't know if his differential case or bull bar would have killed me first as they passed through my skull, but I do know I'd be writing this from Gay Heaven right now with a goddam rubber duck half-way up my ass. That duck? Not at all a part of Gay Heaven, believe it or not. 

 

The Miata isn't even safe behind these walnut-brained buffoons, since they often have too-wide tires "because they look cool" slinging all sorts of road tar and detritus right onto and through the car's paint, scarring it irreparably. 

You're not safe if they're on the other side of the road, either.

Another time, down another country two-laner, a Mercedes Piece of Gaudy Shit dipped below the line on a 60 mph sweeper. I say dipped, but truly, he was entirely in my lane heading the opposite way. Hopefully they were just drunk, and weren't in fact looking up how to install a light up Mercedes logo on their 30k subcompact "luxury" car, before I laid on the horn and they course-corrected. 

My favorite instances are when I pass trucks on the right since they enjoy going 15 mph under the speed limit. With the top down, I can hear the lumbering titans groan under their own mass, trying so hard to block me from passing. It is the ultimate, shittiest of all anti-social car behavior, I'd argue, before street-racing.

 

Then, like a heat-seeking missile powered by nihilism and Mountain Dew, they zoom up to ride mere inches off of the Miata's ass. 

 

Why?

 

Maybe the motorist's feelings were hurt because time is precious to me and I had somewhere to be. Maybe they're exceedingly individualistic, selfish people that deserve bad things to happen to them. That's harsh, but think about the type of person who decides to buy such a large vehicle that, again, is a detriment to literally everybody including themselves. 

What purpose besides aesthetics does a vehicle need to be this tall? Don't these knuckle draggers know the truck will be harder to use since the bed is so high off the ground and so tall?

Besides, what good reason is there to ride mere inches off any vehicle, let alone a small one with a soft top and could easily fit under your bumper in a wreck? 

Maybe they're desperate for a reason to feel strong, like an ape, and bullying the wee Miata is their sad attempt at that.

I digress. Driving the Miata is a delightful experience almost every time, but sadly, we have to share the roads with people who would be better served by a bus. Until some cultural shift convinces people they don't need a road-going bunker to be safe on the road, I'll keep on driving my tiny bundle of joy until the country roads take me to Gay Heaven for real.