Left-Turn Lane
There's a two-way left-turn lane in the arterial road connected to our little avenue. The road is a busy one, so I often use the left turn lane when turning left out of our street. Having to think about only one lane of traffic at a time can be helpful when traffic is heavy.
Last night I made a left turn into the center lane, then came to a full stop. I waited for an oncoming car to pass before pulling into the farther lane.
The other driver honked crazily at me 5 or 6 times as he went by.
"Strange," I thought. He must not have realized there was a left-turn lane there. He must have thought I was going to pull out in front of him."
Obviously I hadn't even come close to pulling in front of the guy. It was too bad I'd startled him, but it was, after all, a left-turn lane. I pulled out behind him, leaving plenty of distance between our cars.
But the other driver wasn't finished with me yet.
###############
He slowed down as the road divided into two lanes, letting me catch up. I couldn't hear what he was yelling at me, but I could see him wildly gesticulating behind the rolled-up window. I shrugged. It was a left-turn lane. I'd done nothing wrong.
As I turned right at the next intersection, he started honking at me again, yelling and gesturing angrily after me. For a moment I thought he would follow me, but he drove off in another direction, still honking.
I found myself rolling down the window and yelling back at him. I never do things like that. I hollered, "There was a left-turn lane!!!" The words clinked to the ground and rolled away like a dropped penny, unregarded and worthless. There was no way he could have heard and understood them. Even if he had, what difference would it have made?
I found myself wishing I could have communicated fully and instantly with him somehow--maybe through gestures or mind-reading. If I could have explained, then maybe he wouldn't have been so angry.
He would have understood that I wasn't endangering him; wasn't making a stupid driving move out of carelessness. He had probably misinterpreted what was happening in the darkness. He'd thought I was trying to pull out in front of him; cutting him off.
If he'd just had a clearer look he would have seen the left-turn lane. He would have seen me turning purposefully into it and waiting carefully until he was well past before pulling out into his lane.
Then he wouldn't have been angry. He wouldn't have thought I was a stupid, careless driver.
Why do I care so much how a complete stranger feels about me?
I always think that if I can just communicate with someone, things would be better. If I could just explain the right way, use the right words, paint the right pictures--people would understand. They would, if not agree with me, at least understand and respect my reasoning. If I could just communicate enough, everything would be okay.
Life doesn't work that way, though, does it? Communication is a good thing. Communication can be helpful, but even effective communication doesn't necessarily solve things. There are three parts to communication--the sender, the message, and the receiver. If any of those are disrupted, communication can't happen properly. When the parties aren't willing to listen and respond to what the other is saying, what happens can't really be called communication.
But even effective communication doesn't solve everything.
I told my husband about the incident later, marveling at how angry the other driver had become.
"There's a left-turn lane," I told DH. "It's for making left turns, and I was using it to make a left turn. I don't know what his problem was--couldn't he see that there was a left-turn lane there? I wasn't going to pull out in front of him. I was just turning into the left-turn lane."
"Well, no wonder he got mad," DH said. "That lane isn't for turning into. It's for turning out of."
"You can't turn out of it without turning into it first," I retorted. "It's for making left turns. I was making a left turn."
"That's not a left-turn lane there," he insisted. "The lines are solid. Besides, you're not supposed to turn into a left-turn lane from an intersection."
"No they're not. The outer lines are solid and the inner lines are dotted. It's a left-turn lane, and you can turn left into it from any direction."
"It's not a left-turn lane. You look next time you drive out there. The lines are solid."
I looked today.
We were both right.
The double yellow lines are solid on each side for about a car's-length from the intersection before the inner line becomes a broken line to indicate the left-turn lane.
I did find several pages and traffic laws that indicate that two-way left-turn lanes are for use by vehicles turning out of or into an arterial road. But I couldn't find any that specifically dealt with turning into a part of the left-turn lane near an intersection when the end of the lane closest to the intersection is designated by solid yellow lines.
What do you think is correct?
Last night I made a left turn into the center lane, then came to a full stop. I waited for an oncoming car to pass before pulling into the farther lane.
The other driver honked crazily at me 5 or 6 times as he went by.
"Strange," I thought. He must not have realized there was a left-turn lane there. He must have thought I was going to pull out in front of him."
Obviously I hadn't even come close to pulling in front of the guy. It was too bad I'd startled him, but it was, after all, a left-turn lane. I pulled out behind him, leaving plenty of distance between our cars.
But the other driver wasn't finished with me yet.
###############
He slowed down as the road divided into two lanes, letting me catch up. I couldn't hear what he was yelling at me, but I could see him wildly gesticulating behind the rolled-up window. I shrugged. It was a left-turn lane. I'd done nothing wrong.
As I turned right at the next intersection, he started honking at me again, yelling and gesturing angrily after me. For a moment I thought he would follow me, but he drove off in another direction, still honking.
I found myself rolling down the window and yelling back at him. I never do things like that. I hollered, "There was a left-turn lane!!!" The words clinked to the ground and rolled away like a dropped penny, unregarded and worthless. There was no way he could have heard and understood them. Even if he had, what difference would it have made?
I found myself wishing I could have communicated fully and instantly with him somehow--maybe through gestures or mind-reading. If I could have explained, then maybe he wouldn't have been so angry.
He would have understood that I wasn't endangering him; wasn't making a stupid driving move out of carelessness. He had probably misinterpreted what was happening in the darkness. He'd thought I was trying to pull out in front of him; cutting him off.
If he'd just had a clearer look he would have seen the left-turn lane. He would have seen me turning purposefully into it and waiting carefully until he was well past before pulling out into his lane.
Then he wouldn't have been angry. He wouldn't have thought I was a stupid, careless driver.
Why do I care so much how a complete stranger feels about me?
I always think that if I can just communicate with someone, things would be better. If I could just explain the right way, use the right words, paint the right pictures--people would understand. They would, if not agree with me, at least understand and respect my reasoning. If I could just communicate enough, everything would be okay.
Life doesn't work that way, though, does it? Communication is a good thing. Communication can be helpful, but even effective communication doesn't necessarily solve things. There are three parts to communication--the sender, the message, and the receiver. If any of those are disrupted, communication can't happen properly. When the parties aren't willing to listen and respond to what the other is saying, what happens can't really be called communication.
But even effective communication doesn't solve everything.
I told my husband about the incident later, marveling at how angry the other driver had become.
"There's a left-turn lane," I told DH. "It's for making left turns, and I was using it to make a left turn. I don't know what his problem was--couldn't he see that there was a left-turn lane there? I wasn't going to pull out in front of him. I was just turning into the left-turn lane."
"Well, no wonder he got mad," DH said. "That lane isn't for turning into. It's for turning out of."
"You can't turn out of it without turning into it first," I retorted. "It's for making left turns. I was making a left turn."
"That's not a left-turn lane there," he insisted. "The lines are solid. Besides, you're not supposed to turn into a left-turn lane from an intersection."
"No they're not. The outer lines are solid and the inner lines are dotted. It's a left-turn lane, and you can turn left into it from any direction."
"It's not a left-turn lane. You look next time you drive out there. The lines are solid."
I looked today.
We were both right.
The double yellow lines are solid on each side for about a car's-length from the intersection before the inner line becomes a broken line to indicate the left-turn lane.
I did find several pages and traffic laws that indicate that two-way left-turn lanes are for use by vehicles turning out of or into an arterial road. But I couldn't find any that specifically dealt with turning into a part of the left-turn lane near an intersection when the end of the lane closest to the intersection is designated by solid yellow lines.
What do you think is correct?
Copyright 2009. All rights reserved.
Posted by purple_kangaroo at 12:07 AM[Permanent link]
4 Comments:
sorry i'm with DH on this one. although it is too bad the guy got so mad- still it probably had much less to do with you and the left turn lane than it did with something that happened before he even got in the car.
I do this, too -- this deconstructing of tension-filled driving incidents. Four-way stops are the bane of my existence. Technically I can go after the person on my right goes, but what if the person on my left got there an instant before me but then pauses, is he waiting for me to go? Or is he rolling & then I'll have to slam on my brakes? And the four-way stops that include turning lanes, oh, don't get me started.
I always wondered if this was a female thing, this overanalyzing.
Not being able to see the intersection, I'm not sure who was right, but I couldn't help reading this with the sense that you have the same feelings every time you've been to a doctor who is ignoring or discounting the clear and consistant symptoms you offer. Just reading about the visits and phone calls from here I want to shake my fists and scream!
Bridget, you're probably right. "Clearly, he was overreacting."
Jennifer, that's an interesting point. My husband is much less likely to worry about what's "correct" and more about what makes common sense. He does a lot of reading other drivers' signals and "body language" if you can call the way they drive body language.
Amy, that's an insightful point. I keep thinking that if I just had enough information and could communicate well enough, then the doctors would understand and it would be all better. But with some doctors it seems the more information I try to communicate and the harder I try, the crazier they think I am.
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