#39 Yes I Hate Roundabouts

So I’m out driving the other day. And I come up to one of those new roundabouts small cities are scattering all over the landscape, and I suddenly curse and jam on the brakes. Damn! There’s this guy that has come to a complete stop at the edge of the roundabout. I haven’t even been slowing down because I can see from six blocks off that there’s no one else in the circle. What the heck is he doing, I think, waiting for a light?
He’s the newest in a line-up of criminally bad drivers conspiring to drive my insurance rates up just because I have the misfortune to plow into his backside: A Roundabout Rookie. Maybe I’m different than most. I lost my roundabout virginity in the great town of Boston, Massachusetts. I was driving a brand new car that belonged to someone else and, seeing traffic going in a circle and guessing that the street I wanted was on the other side, I dived right in at the first opening. The concept itself seemed simple. Traffic lights are for traffic weenies, roundabouts re-inject the hazards of anarchy into the roadplace and with it the thrill of driving we all remember for our first months behind the wheel, when no puddle was too deep, and no icy parking lot was safe from our giddy joy as we practiced our “turning into the skid”—and accidentally-on-purpose whipped frosty donuts from here to Winchells.
In short, I figured roundabouts, or rotaries as they called them there, were not for the timid and I plunged in and fought my way to the goal of every Southern California freeway driver I’d ever been raised with: The left lane. Where I stayed for the next half a day.
See, it weren’t no easy one- or two-laned roundabout like we have round about here. It was a three-laner. And the Bostonians—who were as aggressive and crabby as New York cabbies—must have sensed I was a West Coaster, and seeing the car I was driving was pristine and un-marred they pretty much knew I wasn’t going to be doing any automotive bluff calling. Did I mention it was morning rush hour? Fortunately I had a full tank of gas.
So I wasn’t too full of pity for Mister Roundabout Milquetoast. I honked. The sonic nudge seemed to work and he dashed into the dread circle and squirted out the other side. It’s pretty easy when you realize roundabouts are about looking to your left. Don’t worry too much about the traffic directly across from you, just try to gauge where the ones on your left are headed. And do your best to keep moving. That’s the whole point. Merge baby merge. Special rule for bicyclists. You have the rightaway. As in: Right. Try not to insist. Old granny cataract is trying to figure out the big SUVs roaring through the circle. You’re not even in the picture. But you will be. In the next edition of “Roundabout Review,” a periodical published by the Traffic Engineers of America. In the section they call Roundabout Roadkill.
America, ya gotta love it.