Yesterday I went to Forest Lake, Minnesota, for a wedding.
Not a bad wedding, really. A little different, but nice enough. Still, the wedding wasn't what
impacted me most. Yet again, having to deal with those damned Minnesotan drivers hit me again.
I just don't get it. How can a distance of 60 miles make so much difference when it comes to the
compliment, or lack, of skills behind the wheel of an automobile? Or, for that matter, any road-going
vehicle.

Forest Lake is North of the Twin Cities, the route taken was to hit Interstate 35 on up through
Iowa to where I35 splits. Take I-35E through Saint Paul (Which is supposedly quicker), and then
just after 35E and 35W join back together again, find Forest Lake. Sounds deceptively easy.
The terror of where you're driving to hits not long after passing the large rock plinth with the
Minnesota outline painted on it, and a bright "Welcome to Minnesota!". Bah humbug.

I can count at least five near-death experiences on this one trip alone. From people in death-trap Chevy's
swinging between lanes in front of me, to teeny-bop squeakers who are about to miss their
exit trying to merge into my lane right beside me. There is no amount of screaming abuse inside
your own car and hand gestures (Not rude ones, I value my life and you can never tell which one of
these nutcases has a .45 in their glovebox) that can relieve the stress built up after only two hours
on a Minnesota interstate.

Making your way through either of the cities is usually an exercise for your reflexes, as in how
quickly you can move your car out of the way of an incoming suicide driver with a vehicle that is less
of a car, and more of an Armoured Personnel Carrier. The speed limits change swiftly and with little
warning, going from 70mph to 45mph in minutes. This leaves you, and apparently everyone else, disoriented,
half of them are flying at 75mph, the other at 35mph.
In fact, even before you enter the cities you have three lanes worth of insanity to deal with. In the
far right lane, a person is stopped to change clothes. On the interstate. In the middle of traffic.
They safely ignore all the people honking at them. That's just a friendly Hello.
In the centre lane is someone doing 55mph, swerving from side to side, entering and leaving their lane
without warning, sometimes not even intending on moving into a different lane, just sort of wandering
over for a bit, and then rushing back into their own lane when it looks like someone might try to
pass them. In the left-hand lane is the people in black-pickup trucks that are jacked eight feet in
the air with spoilers on the tailgate, or Cadillacs with old people, or any manner of vehicle that's
either rented - or has a dealer plate on it. These people move at the speed of sound, and if stare
for too long, you become transfixed to the blur lines that they produce, much like what the De Lorean did
in Back to the Future when it hit 88mph.

People should be warned! You drive along a road and there's a pothole, usually there's a sign that
says "Dip" or "Bump". You go over railway tracks, there's a sign that says "Rail Crossing". When you
hit Minnesota there should be a sign that says "Idiots Ahead".
In fact, I'm seriously contemplating hanging my own banner over the tall rock monolith at the border. My sign will read:
"You are now entering Minnesota. Poor drivers next 600 miles. Enter at own risk."