69 MPH: The Most Dangerous Number on the Highway

Driving the highway at 70 MPH is like dating someone you kind of like but also kind of fear. Go one MPH slower, and suddenly you’re the world’s biggest road hazard. A dude in an old dented gray Toyota Celica is tailgating you and screaming Move Va Your car !! like you just stole his lunch money and insulted his girlfriend, horns blaring, arms flailing, while an 18-wheeler looms so close you can see the pattern on the driver’s socks. Go faster, even just a smidge over 75, and a state trooper in a bad mood appears out of nowhere like a caffeinated ninja with a radar gun that looks like it survived the Cold War.

Then there’s the “toll roulette.” Every 10 miles Cha Ching, a machine demands $9.45 like it knows you have bills to pay, while your GPS optimistically promises you’ll arrive in two hours, and reality laughs: “Five hours, champ.” Bridges that seem to have been under construction since the invention of the internal combustion engine, cones multiplying like rabbits on a sugar rush, and deer standing along the roadside like they’re auditioning for Fast and Furious: Woodland Edition.

And don’t even get me started on the potholes. One look at that crater, and you realize your 2012 compact sedan might be eaten whole like a 2-year-old in a horror movie.

Then come the work zones. And listen, I get it—slow down, protect the workers, don’t become a viral headline. I fully support that. But the cars behind? Oh, they act like you just slammed on the brakes in a demolition derby. Tailgates magically shrink to zero inches, horns become percussion instruments in some road rage symphony, and every sedan driver suddenly thinks they’re auditioning for Fast & Furious 17: Side-Swipe Edition. You slow down for a few hundred feet, and suddenly you’re the star of a honking parade.

And just when you think you’ve mastered human behavior on the highway, you hit an automated speed enforcement zone. That’s right: robotic scanning vehicles silently lurking, cameras primed, algorithms calculating your fate down to the nanosecond. Too fast, and bam—a postcard in the mail that says, “Congratulations! You’re $300 poorer.” No conversation, no negotiating, just the cold precision of bureaucracy and silicon.

Oh, and then there are the kids in cars and motorcycles who treat the highway like a real-life video game. Weaving through traffic at over 100 MPH, dodging semis like Tom Cruise in Top Gun, zero fear of death, no respect for lanes, and somehow knowing that troopers—no matter how ninja-like—can’t or won’t touch them. You watch them zoom by, and you’re left wondering if you accidentally got cast as an extra in some high-speed action movie you didn’t audition for.

Now try driving 69 MPH on the highway. That’s the speed limit sweet spot of both desire and doom. Too slow, and road rage tornadoes target you. Too fast, and radar ninjas lock on. Somehow, in that perfect speed zone, you’re simultaneously invisible, annoyingly polite, and utterly doomed. Your E-ZPass sighs audibly, your playlist keeps skipping, and every semi on the highway treats your car like it’s a cardboard cutout.

Highways today are less about getting from point A to B and more about surviving a live-action video game designed by someone who hates commuters. Beat the tolls, dodge the ninjas, respect the work zones while surviving the honking chaos, pray the deer aren’t plotting an ambush, and hope your suspension survives the pothole apocalypse. And somewhere, just out of sight, a robotic eye is watching, recording, and preparing that inevitable postcard.

For me, though, I’ve found myself doing what my father would always do and I laughed at him for doing when young: I take the backroads. A nice, scenic, leisurely drive where I don’t have to endure sound-barrier walls, tailgating maniacs, or toll booths every ten miles. Instead, I’m treated to beautiful landscapes, winding roads, and a sense of calm that no highway speed limit or radar gun can touch. It’s slower, sure—but in a world where everyone seems to be racing to nowhere, sometimes slower is exactly what you need. I may get there 15 minuites later but my blood pressure is well within limits my doctore would be happy with.