Washington, DC – I-495, the capital beltway, a 64 mile loop of asphalt and concrete that girdles our nation’s capital in a seething traffic feedback loop. It wasn’t so long ago that the beltway was home to some of the most heartfelt imprecations against god, man, and cell phones on the face of the earth. Hurried commuters would vent their murderous frenzy in the usual manner, through blistering diatribes detailing deficiencies in the offenders parentage and what orifices would be forced to accept which object. To see a sweating middle-aged man, neck tendons straining against a soul deep rage and crotch burning with searing hot coffee, threaten to decapitate a grandmother’s cat with a machete specially purchased for the act all because she committed to grievous sin of driving 55 in the left lane had become commonplace, a part of our national identity.  But recently a change has come to this highway and many others across America.  A change which I wanted to experience first hand.

I met officer Earl “Early” Sweetbottem at the state police barracks early Monday morning and rode with him to one of his favorite speed traps, a dusty little alcove hidden behind an overgrown mock orange and a billboard. We sat there for hours, waiting for something, anything that might require Officer Early to use a tazer. At 7:45 a tractor trailer hauling live chickens jackknifed and brought both directions of traffic to complete standstill. It was the kind of situation that in years past would have resulted in half a dozen assaults and a gun murder, but this day found the roads eerily quiet, even the horns were silent. Each car sat patiently waiting for the obstruction to be moved, barely bothering to inch forward and claim the slender inches that they would have killed and died for in years past. There was only one call for Officer Early that morning, a man had been cut off by a u-hall truck and had pulled over to weep. Early gave the man a tissue and moved him along.

Our roads have become quieter. Some would say that they have become more civil. Perhaps so, but this reporter feels that we have sold our soul in the name of civility. Our very vitality, our American lust for life, has been evaporated away and replaced with a creeping lassitude. It breaks this reporter’s heart to see it. Were once proud American working men and woman screamed to the heavens of their unquenchable bloodlust while massive V-8s roared a staccato accompaniment, they now silently idle in their hybrids. On the day I spent with Officer Sweetbottem I saw even the vilest offenders escape with no more than a timidly waved middle finger. Disgusting.

Certainly there have been some setbacks for this great land, our financial institutions crumble under a decade of imprudence and we find ourselves inextricably trapped in a war we can no longer remember the purpose of, but that is no reason to give over to despair. Commuters, search your soul and I’m sure you’ll find somewhere deep within the glowing embers of nearly extinguished rage that once made this country great, embers that can be fanned into flame so that we might rise phoenix like to new heights of glory.

America, your either with us, or you can take the bus. Public transportation loves pansies.