Bob Dole just had to share this tidbit from today's drive from northeast TX to Missouri.

Finally got on the road about 9am this morning, and as usual, the weather picked precisely 9am to start raining. Uneventful driving for the first 35-40 minutes heading up good old 71 highway through Arkansas, and then it all went to crap.

For some reason known only to the blithering idiots behind the wheel, there were two motor vehicles moving a speeds ranging from 40 to 60 mph northbound on 71. You expect that sort of driving from someone in a Dodge Caravan (the lead vehicle), but don't really expect it out of the newer model Mustang immediately behind them. These two motorists had the infuriating driving method highly polished, though.

You know the deal... Drive 40 MPH through the curves and bends and hills and no-passing zones, then when there's a short patch of straightaway where someone could pass, speed up to 60 so they can't.

After a full hour of riding as car number 12 in the line of over 20 vehicles backed up behind these holiday motorists who apparently had no real destination, Bob Dole was about to blow a gasket. Not only were these 2 playing their game, but the 11 cars in front of Bob Dole refused to pass, and refused to leave sufficient space for anyone else to pass without blowing the entire line.

Finally, there's a passing opportunity and the truck in front of Bob Dole has fallen 4 to 5 car lengths behind the car in front of them, so Bob Dole seizes the opportunity. Well, as you could probably guess, the jackass speeds up as Bob Dole gets beside them and closes the previous gap. We're travelling in excess of 70 MPH at this point, and Bob Dole is faced with a couple of split second decisions. Rather than smack head-on into the oncoming vehicle, Bob Dole signalled right and forced Bob Dole's way back in the space that was there until Mr. You're-Not-Passing-Me decided to speed up.

Honking of horn and flashing of headlights ensued as Bob Dole proceeded along as car 11 in the funeral procession.

Over the next 90 minutes, we passed through a 2-lane section where predictably every moron in line kept to the left lane and refused to acknowledge that they were the slower traffic that is supposed to keep right, and Bob Dole--driving 90+ MPH--managed to pass one car and move up to number 10. Passed a Mitsubishi SUV that did the same speed up crap, which drew a rolled down window flying bird salute. Finally, another section with 2 lanes and Bob Dole was on it. Hung behind a red Ford pickup with Missouri tags and blew the whole line and moved on towards Mena, AR at a decent 75 MPH pace attempting to make up some time.

Finally make it to Mena and notice the black Dodge Ram that was the first jerk tailgating Bob Dole, until we hit a red light. At this point, Mr. You're-Not-Passing-Me pulls up to Bob Dole's left and lowers the windows. Bob Dole, ever gregarious, lowers his window and is greeted with:

"Where the **** did you learn to drive you mutherfucking piece of shit. Blah blah blah blah..." and Bob Dole doesn't hear anything else beyong POS because Bubba is wearing a damned Oakland Raiders ball cap. Bob Dole is so amazed that he's sitting in the middle of BFE Arkansas, being berated by some pimple faced Raider cap wearing Bubba that tried to get Bob Dole killed, that Bob Dole misses the opportunity for witty comebacks like "I lurned in Ar-kun-saaaaaawwww" and "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" All Bob Dole can manage is, "You're a goddamned Raider fan?" followed by crazy laughter (joined by Libby). About that time the light turned and Bubba tailgated us for awhile, then passed and went zooming on his way.

So we're another 2 hours into the trip, after having refueled and drained in Ft. Smith, and are cruising along when we top a rise just south of Fayetteville and see the lights of a State Trooper on the shoulder ahead. Bob Dole shuts her back down to the speed limit, and about that time Libby loses it and hollers "HA! HAHAHA! HAHAHA!"

To our delight, Bubba Raider was on the shoulder being ticketed by Johnny Law. (Bob Dole resisted the urge to roll down the window, honk, wave, and yell "Where the **** did you learn to drive?")

Maybe there is a higher power at work.
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