Michelle and I were zipping south near Punta Gorda last night when we heard a siren behind us.
Generally, when you hear a siren you locate its source, then do one of three things: 1) let it pass, 2) try to out run it, or 3) let it give you a ticket. But nothing worked in this case. The siren went on and on and only after several minutes did I discover a Florida Highway Patrol cruiser slooooowly approaching from our rear through traffic, going about the same speed as the rest of us. The trooper eventually got around us and a mile or so down the road we entered an arc of flashing lights indicating an accident. There, in the road, was a squashed bike. Since Charlotte County (our county) has the second highest number of bike deaths in the U.S., I suppose that yet another fatality is no big tuna in these parts. And so, if you are a cop, why rush? No word yet if the victim was wearing his helmet or seat belt.
Two blogs back I delivered a rant against old coots who persist in driving though their diminished abilities have made them total menaces on the road. One of the examples I used was the ninety-something old man out in California who mistook the accelerator for the brake pedal and plowed straight through a crowd, killing ten people. Well, at 3:15 yesterday afternoon another really old dude plowed right through our local Olive Garden. Fortunately, no one was seriously killed, but the building itself now has a large new breeze way. This fool who sent plates of pasta flying and diners diving for cover somehow managed all the faculties necessary to remember the fact that he could save a few cents on the “early bird special,” and yet his memory utterly failed him when it came to which pedal was the brake and which was the accelerator. Maybe we should just remove the pedals altogether for anyone over 80, as well as the car’s engine, and this way, when these folks get behind the wheel, they will not be able to leave their driveway. Ha! I wonder how many of them would even notice?