Frequently, I overhear Hubz chatting with friends from home who want to hear all about life in Germany. Without fail, the topic of the Autobahn rears its head. There is some sort of mystical and powerful allure surrounding this motorway – which, to me, has all the appeal of a normal, American freeway. But the legends are strong and the audience is listening. Here are some fun facts that you might not know.
1 – There IS a speed limit on the Autobahn. In places where one is driving through a city, on curves, through tunnels or construction zones, the speed limit is posted and enforced by cameras. It’s usually about 100-130 kph or 60-75 mph. In places where the limit is not posted, the speed is up to the discretion of the driver – but one can still be cited for driving too fast for weather or light conditions.
2- Driving on the Autobahn is done only in the right lanes. NO ONE drives in the left lane unless they are passing a car in the right lane. The law says you don’t linger in that far left lane and the Germans don’t (unless they’re going 120 mph and passing virtually every car on the road).
3 – If you run out of gas on the Autobahn, you will be cited and fined (usually on the spot). Germans have no tolerance for those who don’t follow the rules and muck up the works for those who do! If your car breaks down due to your negligence, and you slow traffic on the Autobahn, YOU are the bad guy, NOT the victim. Fines will be assessed. Grumbling and glaring will accompany you as you wait for the emergency assistance vehicle.
Now, for Hubz and I the Autobahn and its accompanying speed options provides yet another service: A running topic of conversation during road trips. I am no stranger to driving fast. I have a few speeding tickets in my “permanent record” that document this. However, “Speeding” by my definition is in the 75-80 mph category. I am comfortable at this cruising altitude – which is approximately Hubz’s DOMESTIC cruising altitude as well. However, Hubz’s INTERNATIONAL comfort zone tends to creep up into the triple digits – which gives me serious, palm sweating, controlled breathing, TERROR in the passenger seat!
This is where the conversation starts. Usually, we are humming along quite nicely in MY comfort zone, when someone in a German Driving Machine whooshes past us at Mach 4. Suddenly, the primal, competitive, adrenalized part of Hubz’s brain snaps on, and the needle on the speedometer gets a little dose of Viagra. Gathering my wits, amidst my thundering pulse, I turn to look out my window and say, as casually as possible “Wow, Honey. You‘re really speeding up there”. To which he replies, “Am I? I don’t think I’m going much faster than I was a few minutes ago”.
Now we have reached the critical point. Because I am certain, that we are moving 20 mph faster than just 10 seconds ago BUT – I know that pointing that out will launch us in the direction of the “Why are you monitoring my speed?/Who is driving here?” pathway - completely fruitless and no solution to the “OHMYGODWE’REGOINGTODIEINAFIERYCRASH” riot that is happening in my brain. Instead, I breathe and say: “I’m sorry, I know that you want to be able to drive like the natives. For some reason, this speed is really freaking me out right now. Maybe it’s our non-competitive Japanese car. Would you mind slowing down for me? I’m sorry to ruin your fun”.
This is ALWAYS the point during which I get the sideward glance and the sigh. I know that he’s thinking “They’re getting away. They are going to get to their destination WAY ahead of the time that we will. I’ve lost the race. They have beat me in this manliness category. My wife is old and boring. I might as well be driving a minivan and holding her purse”. Slowly he retreats back into the slow lane – and, even more slowly, my blood pressure drops to normal levels. We will frequently proceed at this comfortable pace for a good 30 minutes before the “Whoosh – Viagra - Dream Killer - Minivan-Sigh” pattern re-emerges.
Am I overcautious and crazy? Perhaps. On the days in which he puts up a bigger fight, I point out that he’s been the driver in all (that’s right, more than “each”) of the crashes we’ve experienced together. He is quick to point out that he is a victim of probability because he is most often the driver when we travel together. A fair point, but given the nature of the crashes….(meaning he wasn’t just in the wrong place at the right time)….I still have a right to be a little nervous. (SIDEBAR- I am SUPER COOL WIFE when these crashes happen. I do not sigh, shake my head, get angry, talk about the cost to repair or insure, or point out what he did wrong. I am 100% focused on a calm solution to the issue at hand. .... I only even bring up the accidents when pressed. Not trying to toot my own wife horn here - just want to make sure you all know that the accident card is only played when valid and necessary.....)
Sometimes Hubz tries to appeal to my vanity and says something like: “Come on Honey, let go and let’s be young while we can.” Sadly, he doesn’t realize that my vanity (like my body) has long since given up on the perky and fearless qualities of youth. I like the comfortable and secure knowledge that I have nothing to prove. I like that our relationship has evolved into a safe place to admit that I am scared of the speed and he is competitive with strangers. It’s lead to a deeper understanding of each other – one which allows this entire exchange to evolve into a series of hand squeezes, sighs and chuckles as we shake our heads at each other. That’s life in the fast lane, I guess :)
