Highway Bound :: essays papers

Highway Bound Highway 40, is it a battleground or an interstate? It is a large mass of pave, unappeasable rubber tire marks burnt into pavement, tons of fast move steel, confusion, boiling anger, mental anguish and lost souls. I view the nations commencement ceremony federally funded interstate as a large mass of asphalt that stretches from North Carolina to California. I have personally spent many infuriating, pictorial and mentally draining hours on this highway, traveling in route among Durham and Raleigh. The memories of a thousand trips all seem to fuse into matchless long memory of roadwork, delays, chaos and horror. It takes strenuous efforts to confess and alleviate this event from my shoulders. The nightm be begins as I navigate my pearl white Toyota supra onto the Highway 147 onramp, denoted by an ever so familiar reflective jet sign. My music blares a blissful tune as I set the accelerator to the floor. Gaining speed, taking flight so that I can successfu lly merge into the never-ending column of vehicles racing to struggleds their separate destinations. As I merge off of the onramp and into chaos I look cautiously over my shoulder, checking to make sure I am clear to get in. A minivan the color of the off-keyest midnight is the only obstacle in view. I merge successfully deciding the slow moving vehicle is well out of insecurity. No sooner do I slide securely into my lane upon the disgraceful asphalt than I notice that this family transport of safety is not truly that, but a marauding begin hauling her troops into combat. The dark figure of the van grows larger and larger until it appears I am provided an obstacle meant to be trampled. I look down and realize that we are reaching speeds of eighty miles per hour, yet this minivan has virtually become a break in of my bumper. I flash questioning glances behind me trying to predict the pale womans intentions. Unable to bring solace to the growing war behind me, I face forward concentrating on simply retentivity my car between the bright, pure white line running bewildered down the highway. I keep my car within a fewer feet of the one in front of me, trying not to infringe upon danger but at the same time trying to keep mother murder behind me from laying on her horn.