If only the main thoroughfares of Fleming Island stretching into Green Cove Springs were as smooth as ice cream. That’s one of the thoughts bouncing around my head after work, as hunger pangs kick in.
Where the rubber meets the road within segments of Clay County leaves a lot to be desired – such as faster, easier access.
Unless you have a helicopter or the ability to teleport yourself like a Star Trek character, there’s literally no getting around the panoply of orange barrels. They fringe lanes along US-17 for a few miles in both directions, making it a challenge to avoid hitting red light after red light, particularly at sunrise and during dinner-time rush hour.
You might be thinking that I simply have a flair for the obvious.
There are some enlightened souls among us who prefer to view the construction projects’ silver lining: Streets and highways will be improved, well, down the road; some congestion now is necessary for comfort later; and at least Clay County isn’t as traffic-choked as Miami or Los Angeles.
Those positive perspectives aren’t wrong – and perhaps they’re even necessary for drivers who are prone to losing their tempers. Whenever you’re stuck behind a vehicle resembling the clunker in The Beverly Hillbillies while cars in other lanes glide past, it’s helpful to have a traveling companion, some music and/or a bite to eat.
Even so, there will occasionally be circumstances out of one’s control when behind the wheel.
For early birds who hit the road when the sky remains inky, those extra-bright headlights from oncoming vehicles are quite an eye-opener. When rain is added to the mix, it’s no picnic if you’re traversing construction zones in rural swaths of County roads 209 and 315.
Seconds before a stoplight turns green, a lumbering 18-wheeler might pull in front of you, as if keeping you honest in case a police officer is on the lookout. Indeed, just when you’re about to pick up the pace and get a full head of steam, a slower vehicle whose driver didn’t get the memo ensures you’ll be seeing red again (and again).
While moving at a glacial pace, block to block, inevitable questions spring to mind: Why aren’t there more construction workers? Which month (or year) will these orange barrels be transported away? Will my dinner be cold by the time I reach the house?
Ah, life on the road. After living in town for only five weeks, I’m feeling right at home while recognizing fellow drivers’ license plates and tail lights.
