Best laid plans of mice and traffic engineers

I was cutting it close. My friends were surely sitting at Cafe Trinity wondering where I was as I approached the stoplight on Fifth and Larch yesterday. It was 11:30, and I still had several blocks to go and would still need to find a parking spot. We were to meet for a reunion debriefing lunch at 11:30.

Just north of Serva Burger, I decided to pull into the left-turn lane and try a quieter route past Sand Creek and the hospital on North Third. I could approach the 4-way stop, turn left and quickly turn right on North Second. Then, I'd be just one stoplight away from searching out a parking spot within range of the restaurant.

Seemed like a good idea as I pulled past a line of cars waiting for the light to turn green, allowing them to proceed south on Fifth Avenue. As I came to a stop near the light, the car clock read 11:31. A couple of minutes late wouldn't be too bad for this punctual soul who's normally five-ten minutes early.

The light changed and a long string of northbound traffic rolled through the intersection. As approximately 10 cars passed me on the left, the traffic began to slow. A momentary gap formed in the motorized queue. I opened my window, knowing I'd be sitting there a while.

Looking down toward the pavement, I noticed movement and zeroed in on a plump gray mouse making its way across the street toward my car. The little critter had made a fatal error: it may have read the sign bragging that "Sandpoint is a walking town," but it was not using the crosswalk.

Within seconds a waiting northbound car rolled forward. I tried in vain to motion to the driver that the mouse was in his path. The next sight on the pavement was pretty gory. Two left tires on the car had flattened the mouse. Wine-red body parts oozed from its back side.

I grimaced and then watched as three or four more cars finished the job of sealing the red and gray mass to the hot pavement. Looking away in horror, I noticed the clock now said 11:35.

"I'll have a story to tell my friends," I thought, " but not before lunch. They're probably wondering where I am by now." The light had changed. Traffic began to move from the left and right. I knew it would be just a few more seconds before my left turn light turned green, so I waited, working on my patience.

The next light allowed north and southbound traffic to move once again.

"Where's the left-turn light?" I asked out loud. "Damn!" So, I waited. Left turn lights off from Larch Street allowed those cars to go. Then, the north and south bound traffic moved once again. The clock said 11:41 by the time three or four rotations of traffic had moved all around me. By now, the flattened mouse looked like a distant memory.

"Shit!" I said. "I could be sitting here all day!" I noticed the lady behind me had pulled into the lane next to me. Figuring that was my only escape, I switched on my right-turn signal. The traffic zipped through as if we were on the Los Angeles Freeway. Nobody offered to slow down and let me in. I nudged the car to the right, thinking that some courteous driver would certainly see my dilemma and allow me into the lane.

No dice. I had to make a run for it when a small gap in the roaring traffic allowed me to dart to the right. Finally, the instant I pulled safely into the lane, I noticed the left-turn light onto Larch turn green.

"What the hell?" I thought, waiting once more for a different light. Eventually, it turned green and I made it to a parking spot two blocks away from the restaurant by 11:46.

A couple of times during that frustrating entrapment on Fifth and Larch, I did holler to passing drivers with windows open, "No, we DON'T need a bypass, do we?"

If nothing else, those traffic engineers oughta fix that damn left-turn light. For now, it's painfully obvious the best-laid plans of mice and men didn't get together for this frustrating traffic situation in beautiful downtown Sandpoint.