I ‘m uncomfortable roller skiing in the fast lane of a freeway. As I glide along the smooth lane with cars passing far to my right, the logic of being in the middle of the freeway increases. There’s really no traffic so no one will be in the fast lane. Once again, I’m wrong.
Like a fighter jet sneaks up on an enemy above the speed of sound, a day-glow green Lamborghini Countach nearly cuts me in half at 320 kph. This is who’s driving in the fast lane. With a slight swagger in the car, the driver’s split-second visual of me in his lane caused him to react just slightly to avoid me. The 6000 rpm engine stealthily screams in my ear like a horror movie monster jumping out of a closet. Chills runs up my spine and back down through my legs, paralyzing me. My breath is stunned, my fingers tingle, and I roll to a dead stop.