Bernie Paquette
The Old Man and the Yellow Turtle
Start your day at a sustainable pace, so that your shadow does not catch up to you.
Every Thursday at 4 pm the old man opened his car door its shining yellow a testimony to his regimented polishing, slid into the drivers seat, adjusted the mirror, put on his seat belt, started the car, looked down the sidewalk - both ways - twice, the same for the road, before edging the car out of his driveway onto the rural 25 mph road at the speed well below the capacity of a turtle. Why, in all these years, was he still compelled to enter the fray, to disrupt the pack, to howl at those who drove like they had to be somewhere else yesterday - why did he feel someone had to stand in place for the bipeds of all ages - no one knew. Maybe because he had the time, perhaps because he had read the headlines of a little girl, a young man, and an older gent being injured or worse while crossing or biking, or walking, maybe because he was kind, or obstinate, caring, or insensitive. It all depends, he often answered those who posed questions to him. It all depends…
Did he manage to get the car vertical to the road before a car or truck came barreling past the flashing red electronic speed sign? If so, no points gained. Time for a sip of coffee or maybe a quick text on his cell phone, he thought maliciously with a smile. But no, rules are rules; one cannot feel good about winning if one does not follow the rules. Though he would come to realize penalties would befall both those who follow and those who break the law, and then unevenly.
His wife, he knew, did not think much of his tenacity with road rules. It was one thing to be a law-abiding citizen; it was another to engage in the equivalent of a pace car driver at the Indy 500 after the green flag was waved. She preferred him sitting in the grandstands, cheering for the pace car, not driving it. In her own quiet way, she knew the power of a pace car is first and foremost the driver, and secondly, the town road rulebook, and third, the support of the home crowd - the citizens of the town.
Jercrow was a small Vermont town with three main roads serving as thoroughfares cutting through the centers of the mostly residential community. In most behaviors, the residents were moderate, caring, polite, and tempered in the face of different opinions, like when salt usage on the winter roads was discussed at the town meeting - a sort of Goldilocks and the Three Bears story every year. “The town is applying too much salt.” The town is not applying enough road salt.” “The town is applying just the right amount of salt - but it costs too much.” In the end, there usually was no change to the salt allocation in the budget, though an observant outsider might notice that the food stand in the gym after the meeting had begun offering fries with options: little salt, a lot of salt, or no salt (no salt shaves a nickel off the price).
As cars began to approach the old man, his yellow car and white hair both aging in place as though a school bus had retired from service halfway between the MMU high school and the Jercrow Country Store. The first car to reach this stolid speed deterrent sometimes would patiently wait a few seconds, then either lay on the horn or go around the obstruction, upon which a rapid acceleration often followed. More cars approached as the process altered the flow. The old man began to depress the only speed control he had control of and leisurely moved onward toward the crosswalk at the Community Center followed by the sunken speed table in front of the Jercrow Country Store where morning commuters crossed from the small parking area to the store for breakfast sandwiches, Boar's Head subs, wraps, and LaPlatte beef burgers, and convenience store groceries and gifts. They might even shop for local products like Vermont maple syrup, craft beers, wines, and baked goods, as well as creemees and coffee.
The old man, like much of the community, was proud of their over 200-year-old Store, Vermont’s Longest-running store. He believed that “visitors and folks just passing through are welcome in Jericho; however, we don’t need to allow them to disrupt our community's quality of life or risk the safe use of our streets and sidewalks.” Besides, he thought as he drew up to the full 25 mph, they should take the time to enjoy our beautiful town and the Country Store, freshly painted and spruced up inside as well.
A commercial truck ahead of him failed to slow down as it passed the pedestrian sign, did not stop to allow someone leaving the store to cross the crosswalk, and clambered over the speed table, rattling the truck's carriage and the old man’s teeth. The old man slowed, then stopped as the bipeds, only briefly looking the other way, crossed safely. This time, he thought, thank the heavens for every safe crossing. A point gained, but one loss for the ‘time is money’ commercial truck behavior.
Stopping for his favorite take-out meal, a Laplatte hamburger, and the best onion rings (honoring his special request of no salt) took his mind to the recent Select Board meeting. The meeting was about creating community safety norms. Achieving slower vehicle speeds. Increasing the safety and perception of safety for non-motorized users. Increasing the quality of life in residential and commercial areas. And increasing the cost efficiency of police enforcement.
The purpose of the meeting was to create actions to improve safety, comfort, and mobility for non-motorized users in Jericho. Residents were concerned about high and unsafe traffic speeds, lack of space for pedestrians and cyclists, and high pedestrian traffic areas with limited sight distance. In spring 2024, $30,000 was approved for the purchase and use of traffic safety and speeding reduction measures to achieve a relatively compliant level with the posted speed limit throughout Jericho, aligned with the Town Plan strategy of prioritizing speed reduction and safety for pedestrians and cyclists.
He had offered, “We can encourage people to make choices that will benefit them in the long run. When applied to public roadways, the logic goes that when drivers are comfortable with their surroundings, they're less likely to pay attention. So, traffic engineers design cues into the roadways that spur people into changing their behavior without realizing it. Choices need to be made for what speed control features will be implemented and at what locations. We need a plan for physical and perceptual speed control measures to influence self-governed driving behavior."
He recalled the sentiment that he felt many in the community had expressed for years: “We care about the safety of all who commute in our community, be it walking, biking, driving, or otherwise. This is not just about rules, regulations, and our laws, it is about us caring for each other, wanting each our behaviors not to risk the safety of others”.
Sitting at the picnic table enjoying his local grill delight, he smiled as he watched young folks playing a type of field hockey with a tennis ball on the town green, while others gathered at picnic tables with creemees in hand - chocolate & maple was the day's offering at the store.
The days and creemees were melting as the heat rose as fast as the traffic had risen both in volume and average speed over the last handful of years.
He recalled how the recent traffic study had determined that in the Center, the cars traveling at 35 to 40 mph had gone from 107 (per day) eleven years earlier to 1,060 cars per day. Every day, twenty-two cars a day travel at 50 mph or higher. Another Goldilocks and the Three Bears situation, he thought. It was time to adjust the palate to a safer speed closer to the posted speed limit. But how could this behavior change be encouraged? He was reminded of the Vermont statistic: 69% of pedestrian fatalities occur in rural areas. But that message was not enough to have people adjust their behavior. What was needed was to mix the chocolate with the maple, mix caring with design cues in the roadways that spur people into changing their behavior without realizing it.
His Turtle Pace Car was not the first cue to cause a raucous. The town decided to trial a type of vertical deflection speed control device that could be removed in the winter, which was much less expensive than a speed table - A speed hump. And boy, he recalled, was it effective. He thought he was winning the game for a while, gathering up so many points. But then the horn honking and noise complaints countered, taking away points gained from most of the traffic adhering close to the speed limit. By fall, the humps were removed, and so he had taken it upon himself to dedicate every Thursday at four pm to being a pace car driver.
The old man strolled along the town green after finishing his meal. The customized field hockey game had just finished, winners and losers hugged and cheered, showing they cared for the game, not the score, and cared for each other as he knew they should.
It was time to head home, home being only three-quarters of a mile away. It was 5 pm. He could probably be home by 5:04 (at 40 mph), but what was the rush? His hair would not turn any whiter if he stretched the drive to be home by 5:07 (25 mph). He did not much care whether his hair turned any whiter or thinner, but he did care about everyone getting home safely.
What speed to drive, how much of a hurry are you in, what will it buy you to be there a few minutes earlier, and do you miss out on something by rushing?
I guess it all depends on what you care about, he thought as the Yellow Turtle and the old man pulled into the driveway.
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