By nature and general cowardice, I’m not much of a thrill seeker. I have no desire to sky dive, go bungee-jumping or solicit ACLU donations at a Rowan County prayer meeting.
Sometimes, however, a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do. So against my better judgment, I recently headed out to the hinterlands of western Rowan County to tempt fate and go where angels fear to tread, even with multiple airbags and traction control.
I drove through the roundabout.
And — as you may have surmised — lived to tell about it.
This is at least a minor miracle, given the warnings that have sounded over the years since the DOT got freaky and decided to reconfigure the existing intersection at Sherrills Ford and Briggs roads into a giant asphalt doughnut. I don’t know which has provoked more fear and loathing among our gentle populace — construction of the roundabout or predictions that toxic vapors mushrooming up from the proposed downtown Salisbury school office site will engulf the city and cause such an epidemic of brain rot we’ll end up like the zombies on “The Walking Dead” — or, even worse, start allowing lefthand turns at the Square.
You’d think people had never heard of traffic going in circles — and this in the middle of NASCAR nation.
Not that I don’t understand fear of change and disruption of life as we’ve known it. However, anybody who’s worked in the newspaper business in recent years either has to get past those fears or find more stable employment — like transporting nuclear waste over the Alaskan ice highway. Personally, I’ve found that a sense of perspective and an optimistic outlook can help smooth life’s rockier passages. Especially if the new benefits plan doesn’t cover Valium.
So, I asked myself as I prepared to hit the road, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s a beautiful fall day, with great visibility and sparse traffic. I’ve got a full tank of gas, a backpack full of nonperishable food items, extra socks and underwear, motion-sickness pills, emergency flares and a detailed topographical map of the Eastern United States. Thus reassured, I put on my crash helmet, set phasers to stun and headed up the driveway.
As is always the case, the drive through western Rowan was wonderfully scenic and relaxing. This truly is God’s country, even with an evil DOT traffic-calming device lurking in the distance. After dodging three hay balers, a spilled load of pumpkins and an amorous deer that apparently had an unhealthy interest in Nissan pickups, I saw the roundabout looming on the horizon.
Frankly, it was a bit of a letdown. I’d expected razor-wire topped security fences and flashing signs warning motorists that they ventured farther at their own risk. Instead, there was just a big circular piece of asphalt with concrete curbing. There were no tractor-trailer trucks stuck on the interior plateau, like whales languishing on the beach. There were no befuddled motorists who had abandoned their vehicles after unsuccessfully trying to navigate the roundabout’s treacherous turns, inlets and outlets. In fact, the place was pretty much deserted except for a guy on a tractor parked on the right-of-way.
“Need help getting through this thing?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said. “Just waiting for the next tractor-trailer rig to get stuck. Figured I’d make a few bucks pulling it out. Been sitting here a week now.”
“Wish me luck,” I said, cinching down the crash helmet and activating my emergency flashers. “I’m going in.”
As with any type of intersection, you want to check for oncoming traffic before venturing into a roundabout. People sometimes go in the wrong direction, especially if they’ve just emerged from a corn maze.
I’d also suggest checking the sky for UFOs, since roundabouts bear a suspicious resemblance to crop circles, and you never know when a Pleiadian starship might swoop down for a new batch of abductees. After making sure the way was clear, I took a deep breath and pushed on.
I made it through without incident. In fact, it was so much fun, I went around three more times just to make sure I’d gotten the hang of it and to test the motion-sickness pills. Actually, I kept missing my exit. In my defense, Google directions are notoriously sketchy, and I was also trying to evade another belligerent buck.
Safely back home, a tremendous sense of well-being enveloped me, especially after a celebratory libation. That’s what happens when you confront your darkest fears and put them in the rearview mirror. In fact, conquering the roundabout has so renewed my courage and confidence, this weekend I may attempt to log on to the Obamacare website.
Chris Verner is editorial page editor of the Salisbury Post.