Road Nazi

We live in a world without pavement and drive a lot of gravel roads, especially the six miles between our house and the highway.  Periodically, and not nearly often enough, the county maintainer grades the road to work out the rough spots and spread the gravel out again.  It takes awhile for the tracks to develop again, and I am a firm believer that there is a right way and a wrong way to drive on a newly graded road.  First, you need to take it slow, especially if you meet another vehicle to avoid sending a rock into someone's windshield or peppering them with gravel.  Second, you need to drive on the right side of the road and not down the middle so that proper tracks are established. You should drive with your left wheel in the middle of the road to establish a three-track road.  It drives me crazy when the tracks aren't right, which happens quite a bit, because with the infrequency of maintenance on our road we have to live with those tracks for months at a time.  I have given the lecture to my family before, and they dubbed me the "road nazi."

Last week the maintainer went over our road and once again someone has driven down the middle of the road establishing a two-track road rather than a three-track road.  Apparently, I am not the only one bothered as a neighbor mentioned it to M.  He told the neighbor that his wife was really bothered, too, and should be the road nazi.

I like to blame it on the hyper little mail carrier man (I've seen him drive down the middle of the road) and the neighbor's kids (they're kids), but I know that my family can be guilty as well.  I've thought about posting signs on the road that say "DON'T DRIVE DOWN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD" or driving up and down the road several times to establish the tracks myself.  Now I'm thinking I should get a T-shirt proclaiming that I'm the road nazi and go door-to-door and explain the proper way to drive on a freshly graded road.  There aren't too many people in our neighborhood so that shouldn't take long.  It might be fun to stop the border patrol agents and give them a talking to, but they'd probably think I was crazy.  That's okay, so does my family!

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