Alfs Last Stand (Road Rage)

Member Name: SlyClone2k

Product:	Road Rage
Date:	04/07/02 (66 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Advantages to road rage? Hmm now let me see, I don't think so.

Disadvantages: Illegal, Dangerous, Likely to get you a broken schnoz.

While this is another narrative tale of the adventures of Mr. Mellow, the story is based on truth and perhaps one should pay heed to the warnings.

Regds

SlyClone
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Alfs’ Last Stand

The car ignited perfectly. The engine hummed and the petrol needle rose to show a tank only slightly below full. Alf smiled as he slightly depressed his accelerator peddle, car still in neutral, to hear the revs pick up and the familiar sound of a well tuned engine hummed from its position in front of him.

He depressed the clutch, slipped the car into reverse and swung his car of the drive to nestle, poised like a cheetah, on the macadam immediately outside of this home. The road was empty save for a few cars that hadn’t already left for work, the world was all his.

Alf was a still a grateful driver; by the time he actually managed to pass his driving test it had taken him almost 60 lessons and three tests. No driving at 17 for Mr Mellow. Oh no. In fact he was just gone 27 when he finally succeeded in passing his driving test on fine august afternoon. Alf was very grateful for his pass, and grateful that the test route he had taken was the easiest in the town in which he lived. But he knew how to drive. He even considered himself fairly safe.

Driving, Alf thought, was one of life’s greatest pleasures. With it came freedom to roam, the option to jump behind the wheel of a car and get some air after an argument. The chance to take off on adventures and holidays at a moments notice. He and his wife had travelled north, south, east and west in search of the thrills and spills that the British countryside could offer. For a long period of time Alf loved it.

Before too long the fun of driving had worn thin. The other road users rarely seemed to follow the rules of the road. Seemed to have little respect for others. Lacked lane disciple, didn’t understand road markings, forgot th
ey had indicators, drove too slowly.

This fine afternoon Alf had decided to take a journey across the country in search of the bright lights of Blackpool. He wasn’t entirely sure why he wanted to go to Blackpool, but he’d figured a day at the seaside must be better than another day in the lousy town in which he lived. He pulled away from his street, depressing the button on his car stereo, music poured from the speakers and caressed his optimistic soul.

Before too long he’d left town and was on the M1.

“Ah what wonderment this carriage way is.” Alf muttered to himself as his car rolled easily into the second lane. His car purred at a healthy 3500 revs, he could hear it just above the sounds of Supertramp playing Breakfast in America. He watched cars sluice past him, a quick glance at the speedo told him these cars must be doing in excessive of 90 miles an hour. Alf tutted, wondering if he would see any of these cars further down the road.

Before too long the minimal traffic had blossomed. Large HGV’s took up most of the slow lane, one or two would try and out do their counterparts, over taking their thundering brethren slowly, managing to take an extra mile per hour and slowly edge their way past. Inevitably they would slow Alf down as the fast lane became progressively more difficult to enter, the traffic going faster and becoming denser.

Alf forced himself to relax, take in the music and became quickly hypnotised by the drone of the surface beneath the tyres. But all too soon a car veered from the fast lane into his to take up a small amount of space so that it could undertake a slower driver, still going well over the 70mph allowed on the motorway. The car in front, caused Alf to depress his brakes, and a quick glance in the rear-view mirror revealed a ripple of sudden braking behind as cars, travelling to close to each other, were forced to follow suit. Alf flashed his lights at
the BMW and could see the driver reach up and show him his middle digit.

Mr. Mellow was in sensed. He picked up speed to match the 518 and got close to the rear of the vehicle and continued to flash until the driver pulled over, possibly concerned as to his safety. Alf drove passed him glaring, the driver of the Beemer looked back; worry crossing his middle age face.

It occurred to Mr. Mellow that the man would have a wife and kids. Possibly even grand children. It was possible, Alf thought, that for a moment the man in the other car had feared he might never see them again. But Alf had meant any harm, just to reduce the arrogance of this other road user.

Alf drove on, fifty miles passed without incident. Alf sang to the tune that played, and relaxed back into the rhythm of the road. One hundred miles passed on the tachometer, the traffic was becoming denser, slower, and finally it had dropped off to a measly 5 mph. The traffic crawled, and the august sun broke its cloud cover and things began to go horribly wrong.

It began as a simple gesture from the half eaten chocolate bar that had been adorning Alfs Honda for a while. The chocolate melted and oozed slowly from the packaging, ran down the dash and was soon coagulating in the air conditioning vents. The smell of two-month-old melted chocolate filled the car, and whatever cultures had been growing on the bar soon took over the car filling it with a pungent cheesy smell.

The traffic began to move forward just as Alf reached forward and try to scope the chocolate away from the opening. Alf didn’t pick up the pace of the traffic, inescapably lost in the battle of the air-vents. He leaned over his steering wheel. Reaching. The hard plastic pressed uncomfortably into his sternum. Without warning the car behind hit him shunting him forward, Alf clattered against the inside of his car, banging his head on the wind screen, and crushing his chest against the wheel of t
he car.

Alf recovered quickly, jumped from the car. His arms flailed wildly as he shouted obscenities at the person behind. A red mist descended and before too long Alf was lost in complete oblivion shouting and hollering.

The driver stepped out of his car, the black gloss finish catching the sun and reflecting into Alfs eyes just long enough to bring him back to his senses. Just long enough for Mr Mellow to watch the downswing of a large wooden baton as it descended and finally crack him across the nose.
Alf didn’t remember much after that. The doctors told him that he’d broken his nose and passed out on the baking asphalt. The driver had been arrested and released pending a court case of aggravated assault.

Mr Mellow was more cautious after that, realising at last that there is no telling who is alongside you when you are on the road, so you might as well be careful, and not play games.

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