“Don’t scare the four-wheelers”

The speed-limit on most of 5&20, my route between home and Canandaigua, is 55 mph, the state speed-limit. Exceptions are towns: 35-45 mph.
I was cruising along at 60 mph, the speed one sees on average. It’s also the speed officialdom allows. I had just picked up my dog from doggy-daycare.
Suddenly a black Chevrolet mini-pickup roared by, its angry driver giving me the finger.
The pickup was doing 80 or so, so caught up with me quickly as I left doggy daycare. He was a half-mile away as I pulled out. Like, I shoulda waited. (Driving bus I woulda.)
A common occurrence. No one in sight, so I pull out, but quickly some glowering intimidator appears on my rear bumper.
“You shoulda waited, y’old geezer! I’ll miss my free donut!”
Fists raised, epithets shouted, pounding the dashboard, middle fingers displayed, often both hands.
Fond memories of long ago returning from the south Jersey seashore in my parents’ ’41 Chevy.
To get to the seashore we crossed the south Jersey Pine-Barrens, a landscape not ordinarily seen. Nothing but scrub-pine as far as they eye could see. The land was flat, little change in elevation. Railroad trains, before highways, could top 100 mph.
Our road was arrow-straight, and it was late afternoon. We were heading west into the sun.
Suddenly a top-down ’49 Cadillac passed, its youthful occupants gesticulating and guzzling beer. Disregard of anyone coming the other way.
South Jersey was the den of iniquity for sin-starved Pennsylvanians restricted by Quaker values. Liquor stores everywhere, bars, dance halls, and houses of ill repute.
That passing Caddy prompted an angry “tsk-tsk” from my hyper-religious parents.
Perhaps 20 years ago I was headed alone toward Altoona PA, location of Horseshoe Curve. I still consider The Mighty Curve our nation’s premier railfan pilgrimage-stop — I’m a railfan.
This was before a trip to Altoona was all four-lane expressway. I was on old U.S. Route 220, what is now Business-220; a two-lane good for 55-65 mph tops.
Bombing south at 60 or so, suddenly a silver Pontiac passed, its youthful driver flipping me the bird. He quickly disappeared, doin’ 80 or so.
But far ahead I noticed a white Crown-Vic. Soon I passed the Pontiac stopped by the Crown-Vic. (Nyuk-nyuk-nyuk!)
That punk got his just reward. But I bet that black mini pickup continued speeding with gay abandon. Not long after he passed me, he passed my leader, who was also doing 60. More angry fist-shaking, flipping the bird, etc.
What did that dude gain? Often I catch up at traffic-lights, although I’ve seen speeders run traffic-lights. He might get to his destination a minute or two before me. Is that worth possible delay by the constabulary, or putting other drivers in fear?
I had a rule driving bus: “Don’t scare the four-wheelers.”

• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. My heart-defect caused stroke October 26th, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability, and that defect was repaired. I recovered well enough to return to work at a newspaper; I retired from that over 13 years ago.
• “5&20” is the main east-west road (a two-lane highway) through my area; State Route 5 and U.S. Route 20, both on the same road. 5&20 is just south of where I live. It used to be the main road across Western New York before the Thruway.
• A “glowering intimidator” is a tailgater, named after Dale Earnhardt, deceased, the so-called “intimidator” of NASCAR fame. He used to tailgate race-leaders and bump them at speed until they let him pass.