07-22-2019, 04:15 AM
Ok, since the title of this thread is "Los Angeles Drivers, Boo", I felt it to be the right place to vent about my experience Saturday night. File this under the topic "Just because it's legal to do a thing, doesn't always mean you should do a thing."
My wife accompanied me to the Petersen for my shift, which she sometimes does, so that she can catch up on medical stuff (charting, she calls it), while I give tours. Afterwards, we have the afternoon and evening to do fun things in the area, and after we had lots of fun strolling around the West Side of LA to search for an elusive bakery she had wanted to find, we found ourselves travelling home on the 405 freeway. Even at 9:00 pm, there is considerable traffic, as that part of the freeway is funneling toward LAX airport. We were in the car pool lane in my car, following a scooter. Not a problem, as the prevailing speed of traffic hovered between 35 and 40 miles per hour. From my years of using them as pit bikes, and after staring at it for 30 minutes, I determined the scooter to by a Kymco 150.
After the airport, the freeway opened up a bit, and as speed increased, the scooter did its best to keep up. It topped out at 54 miles per hour. I could tell it was wound completely out by the tucked position the rider took, as well as it's lack of stability at said speed, causing it to dance from the left to the right edge of the lane repeatedly.
As an opening to the regular lanes of traffic approached, I figured that the scooterist would do the honorable thing and move over to the right side of the freeway. He didn't, possibly terrified by the fact that the rest of the freeway was now going about 75.
The narrow opening to the car pool lane allowed me a very small opportunity to squeeze around the scooterist and get back in front of him. I don't believe that my Fiesta presents a menacing image in anyone's rear view mirror. However, the lifted Chevy DuraMax Bro-Dozer truck that was behind me was most likely less kind to the scooterist now that he was the one breathing on the rear fender of the Kymco, which still refused to move over.
The whole situation disappeared quickly in our mirrors, and I wished him the best of luck.
My wife accompanied me to the Petersen for my shift, which she sometimes does, so that she can catch up on medical stuff (charting, she calls it), while I give tours. Afterwards, we have the afternoon and evening to do fun things in the area, and after we had lots of fun strolling around the West Side of LA to search for an elusive bakery she had wanted to find, we found ourselves travelling home on the 405 freeway. Even at 9:00 pm, there is considerable traffic, as that part of the freeway is funneling toward LAX airport. We were in the car pool lane in my car, following a scooter. Not a problem, as the prevailing speed of traffic hovered between 35 and 40 miles per hour. From my years of using them as pit bikes, and after staring at it for 30 minutes, I determined the scooter to by a Kymco 150.
After the airport, the freeway opened up a bit, and as speed increased, the scooter did its best to keep up. It topped out at 54 miles per hour. I could tell it was wound completely out by the tucked position the rider took, as well as it's lack of stability at said speed, causing it to dance from the left to the right edge of the lane repeatedly.
As an opening to the regular lanes of traffic approached, I figured that the scooterist would do the honorable thing and move over to the right side of the freeway. He didn't, possibly terrified by the fact that the rest of the freeway was now going about 75.
The narrow opening to the car pool lane allowed me a very small opportunity to squeeze around the scooterist and get back in front of him. I don't believe that my Fiesta presents a menacing image in anyone's rear view mirror. However, the lifted Chevy DuraMax Bro-Dozer truck that was behind me was most likely less kind to the scooterist now that he was the one breathing on the rear fender of the Kymco, which still refused to move over.
The whole situation disappeared quickly in our mirrors, and I wished him the best of luck.