I Love Traffic

I love traffic. No, really; I love traffic, so much so that sometimes I get in my car with a good mix CD and a cup of coffee and set out for a good hour of bumper to bumper thinking. I did this two nights ago, in fact, for a steady two hours of grid lock; just me, some good Soul tunes and the city of Portland all around me.
I traveled West across the Sellwood Bridge then North down Macadam towards I5 for the evening pilgrimage back to Washington. Within 10-minutes my right foot trembled and quaked doing the first gear rock. And all around me; concrete, steel, arcs of grey and white and blue cut the glare of the setting sun. I felt so happy, so content, I thought ‘God, if you took me now I’d be OK with that, I would.’
Traffic stands still where 99 meets 5 kissing the East River blocks. And this is what I truly love about traffic; watching everyone. Hundreds of drivers, all going the same place, the same way, at the same pace. Hundreds of expressions, reactions – singing, frowning, happy, smiling, swearing, gesturing, blissful, indignant, patient, cell phone talking, nose-picking, wistful – all with the same outcome. Each driver an island with their own soundtrack insulated in their own little cell yet each pull forward sets off a chain of events affecting everyone on the ride. One idiot picks the wrong lane and the flow stops. One tired mother falls asleep at the wheel and ten cars collide.
I exited at 302b/Swann Island and circled West to the City. Onto Burnside, the esophagus of Portland, the festering mainline cutting North from South. A gamble; constant construction, bridge open? bridge closed?
You can tell a lot about a person by how they drive. Do they stop for pedestrians at crosswalks? Do they leave intersections open? Do they alternate where lanes merge or selfishly skip turns?
Back to the Eastside. A nice drive.