Unexpected Camaraderie Found on Freeway

Friday, April 24, 2009

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

Unexpected Camaraderie Found on Freeway

By J’AMY PACHECO

When it comes to traffic, I’m not what anybody would call patient.

I hate traffic. I spent years commuting from Orange County to downtown Los Angeles, a 26-mile trek that sometimes took as long as an hour and a half to complete. I hated every minute of it. I don’t mind the occasional tie-up, but serious traffic makes me crazy.

So a recent road trip to San Diego could have – probably should have – gone badly. My daughter and I left the house around 3 p.m., headed for an overnight at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. The trip normally takes under three hours.

We hadn’t been on the road more than 20 minutes or so when I saw the freeway lanes ahead filled with illuminated brake lights. This is rarely a good thing, but I was halfway down a steep, five-lane mountain pass when I realized the entire freeway was coming to a sudden slowdown. Naturally, I braked.

After a few minutes of inching along, I noticed the traffic ahead, visible for a long distance around a bend, wasn’t moving at all. Soon, neither were we. A few minutes later, I turned off the engine and rolled down the windows.

My daughter was immersed in a book about the Titanic, and hardly noticed we were parked on a freeway. It didn’t take long for me to get restless, however, and I called my husband.

He looked online, and told me that Caltrans was reporting the closure of two lanes. I knew that couldn’t be right, and knowing Caltrans, assumed that was a report from another day. Or even month. Maybe even country.

I turned on the radio just in time to hear the end of a traffic report indicating a van had overturned and burned, and all lanes of the freeway were closed for removal.

I thumped my head against the steering wheel.

A woman in the car next to me also had her windows down, and apparently heard my conversation.

“Excuse me,” she called over. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?” I told her what I’d heard on the radio, and soon heard someone at my passenger side window.

“Pardon me,” a woman with a lovely accent interrupted. “We’re trying to catch a flight to go home to England. Do you know how long this is going to be?”

I passed on the information I had. Before long, people were getting out of their stopped cars to talk about what was happening.

The guy behind me gave a cigarette to a man in a Lexus ahead and over one lane. The Lexus guy’s wife got out of the car, and started offering bottles of water to complete strangers.

I was afraid to accept not because it came from a stranger, but because I didn’t know how long we’d be trapped there and didn’t see a single motor home to offer “comfort.” But I did offer everyone jelly beans from the bag I had on the front seat.

The woman to my left, I soon learned, was from Temecula, but returning home from a vacation in Salt Lake. Others were returning from Las Vegas, and other places. All were surprised to find themselves parked on the freeway, but none seemed too agitated. Even the van filled with Londoners was good-natured about the turn of events.

A group of us gathered along the guardrails to take pictures of the vast, unsettled mountainous territory that surrounded us. It was a beautifully crystal-clear day, and the mountains we normally zoom past looked breathtakingly beautiful. We took pictures of the traffic stopped before us, and parked behind us all the way up the hill.

I couldn’t help but be amazed at the immediate camaraderie between a bunch of strangers who had shortly before been anonymous drivers hidden within the hulks of metal that carried them. On foot on the freeway, we made jokes, laughed, talked about our trips, shared whatever we had, and made friends, however temporarily.

Eventually, we started noticing signs of movement in the distance. We said our good-byes, mentioned how much fun it had been, wished one another safe journey, and returned to our cars.

Traffic was stop and go for a couple miles, but eventually, we were back up to our 70 mph cruising speed, anonymous strangers once again.

I still hate traffic, but I discovered being trapped in it isn’t so bad, as long as you have friends – or strangers – to share it with.

And, of course, a nice big bag of jelly beans.