What do speeders gain from saving a few minutes? | READER COMMENTARY

Not long ago, a letter writer asked Baltimore County to do more to curb speeding on the Beltway (“Beltway should not be ‘Grand Theft Auto’ test track,” May 2). That letter prompted a question that I would like to pose to the Baltimore Beltway maniacs — those who attempt to stay between the guard rails while moving faster than the speed of sound.

Let’s say you are driving from the Interstate 95 interchange in the south near Halethorpe to the Interstate 83 North exit near Ruxton. It’s a distance of 23 miles, or about half the length of the Beltway. If you travel at the posted speed of 55 miles an hour, the drive takes about 25 minutes. If, on the other hand, you drive at 85, the trip takes just over 16 minutes. Maintaining 85 miles per hour is unrealistic, of course, because you will often have to brake sharply as you weave your way through all those other drivers laboring under the mistaken belief that their lives have some value. But let’s use 85 as a talking point.

At that speed, you will have saved yourself almost nine minutes, along with your likely wingman, as there always seem to be two of you, pacing each other (maybe it’s some bizarre variation on “Smokey and the Bandit” where each of you is hoping that the other one will be stopped by the police and hung out to dry).

I’m supposed to be posing a question, so here it is: What are you and the other over-compensator doing with that extra nine minutes you’ve clawed back out of your day? Are you using the time to write a novel? Are you composing an opera? Are you researching fusion technology? I’d hate to think that when you get to where you’re going, you just go about your day. That would mean the incredible stress you cause others on the road is pointless and the people who are often killed by actions like yours died for nothing.

Maybe you could post a sign in your window for the benefit of other drivers. “Solving an international crisis,” or something like that. Some of us are dying to know (literally dying, for keeps, with no reset button like the one in your copy of Grand Theft Auto). The least you could do is let us know what we’re dying for.

— Steve English, Clarksville

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