So far, so good.
I accelerate to the speed limit and set my cruise control.
There, suddenly beside me, is a monolith of a tractor-trailer. It seems to be traveling at nearly the same speed as I. It is only a two-lane highway. I feel a little crowded, with him there just next to me, the trailer's tall wall-like side towering over my little sedan, blocking out the daylight. Usually, traffic, particularly of the large heavy truck variety, sails on by.
Ah, he's moving ahead a little now. Good.
The end of the trailer is a mere ten feet ahead of me when I see the directional signal come on. He's moving back into my lane with bare inches to spare. If he touches his brake pedal or if some mischance lessens the distance between us by a few inches, I'll be right underneath his axle.
Cruise control: off!
I fall back a little to give him plenty of room, thinking: Gotta be a Montrealer.
Et voila! Je suis correct! Le nom de la société sur la cabine du camion est canadien, basé à Montréal.
Quel surprise...
Husband used to travel to Montreal every week. He came home with tales of traveling on St. Hyacinthe highway: everyone traveling at eighty-five miles per hour, and all six inches apart.
Those guys need to understand that here, there's LOTS OF ROOM.
No NEED to nestle up against any available vehicle.
Maybe they just don't *get* the concept of adequate personal space for vehicles.
Well, hell! I can tell 'em.
The guy was traveling at a ridiculous rate of speed, four inches from every other moving or stationary object. Case closed.
