‘In the creation of road signs, the Federal Highway Administration sometimes struggles with tone. Take, for instance, the well-known paranoia cycle that exists along I-80, where signs warn travelers of a nearby prison and suggest hitchhikers are potentially more of a threat in the region than they are normally. Not an unreasonable message in and of itself, but some budgetary or communications breakdown led the signs to be placed every half mile so that, in many stretches, several of the signs can be seen leading off into the horizon. The effect is nerve-wracking- the difference between a friendly ‘watch your head’ as a tall friend approaches a short door and the shouting of the phrase over and over, as though a rogue frisbee approaches.
The dread produced along I-80 is felt to keenly that several instances of vehicular homicide have occurred based on the assumption of a driver that someone on foot meant them harm. Iowa’s knee-jerk reaction to the growing problem was the addition of a second series of signs that target pedestrians, warning them that drivers in the area may swerve erratically across the curb. The new message only encouraged walkers to draw attention to themselves as cars passed, often waving lights or gesturing widely in ways that were considered hostile by on-edge drivers. So much more harm came to hikers (hitch- or otherwise) that it became common practice to carry rocks on I-80 and to pelt nearing cars so that traffic was forced into the center lanes.
Most recently, the Federal Highway Administration has added a third sign warning drivers that people on the side of the road may throw rocks. These signs are smaller and fixed just below the originals, as though attempting to convey apology both for the problem and for the relatively ineffectual solution.’
I’m not sure where pedestrians stand on motorcyclists until something slams into the visor of my helmet, splitting the hard plastic across the center. I pull it up until the rock-strewn pavement forces me away from the center and toward the curb. A dirt-clod that barely misses my head explodes in front of the bike, creating a cloud of dust and grit that immediately blinds me. I manage, somehow, to maneuver to the shoulder without crashing or swerving toward another malicious group of bystanders. It takes 10 minutes to rinse the dirt from my eyes. The first thing I see is the cartoon outline of a car driving off the highway toward someone on the side, its cartoon driver waving a little cartoon fist. Warning, it says, drivers may target pedestrians.
The second thing I see is a car behind the sign, speeding toward me.
I dive off into the brush beside the road and, hearing it pass, leap out with a stick in my hand. I fling it impotently in the driver’s rearview mirror.
Anger churns inside me. My eyes water and my body aches from landing on the ground. Another car is coming and it isn’t until I see my shadow wielding a stone that I realize I’ve picked one up myself. I take several steps back and drop it. The passing car sound its horn; it’s as likely a warning as it is a ‘thank you.’
I wave, regardless. Let them make of it what they will.
-traveler
