Wednesday, January 10, 2018

Tailgate Party

Lately I wish I had one of the secret agent cars. You know, the kind that have flame throwers or dump oil slicks or nails out to thwart pursuers as the secret agent tries to get away from the bad guys. Well, I don't have such equipment on the Ford.  But I sure want some. The problem is tailgaters. I'm sick of people driving along inches off my rear bumper.  

I live in Pima County, some distance from the municipal boundary of the City of Tucson.  To get anywhere I must drive on one of two two lane roads. These roads have few places one can pass. So, drivers always seem to want to get overly familiar with my rear end.  I typically drive a little over the limit.  The thing that bugs me about being constantly tailgated is there is always a car in front of me. I have nowhere to go. Riding my bumper won't speed me up. The car in front of me is putting along, and there is nothing I can do about it. 

It's rude. It's dangerous. And it never stops.  So little missiles in the James Bond surplus sale would be way cool. I know of no other way to stop people from tailgating me. 


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