Lewis: Driving me crazy
We just got back from a road trip through the Scottish Highlands, and I never thought I’d say this, but I miss their competent drivers.
In Scotland, the roads are approximately the width of a ski pole and bordered by either ancient stone walls or sheep that look like they own the place. Yet somehow, miraculously, it works. People stay in their lanes. Trucks use the slow lane. They signal before turning. They yield when a sign says “Give Way,” which is British for “Don’t drive like a lunatic.” They even understand roundabouts.
It was beautiful. Peaceful. Civilized.
Then we flew home and landed in Denver. Forty minutes later, we were on Interstate 70 — a scenic hellscape where the laws of traffic physics go to die.
If you haven’t had the pleasure lately, I-70 is less a highway and more a live-action tragicomedy. Picture a demolition derby but with more Subarus and a surprise inflatable raft flying out of someone’s rooftop cargo box every 30 miles.
Support Local Journalism
I-70 is Colorado’s great equalizer. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you drive. Once you’re between Denver and Vail on a Friday afternoon, you’re just another unwilling contestant on “America’s Next Top Road Rage Trigger.”
One week earlier, I had been navigating Scotland’s North Coast 500 with grace and confidence. The next, I was gripping the wheel like a hostage while a Ford Mustang blew past me doing 90 in the breakdown lane. For a moment, I thought maybe I’d stopped moving entirely. I considered checking the parking brake.
I’ve now narrowed Colorado driving down to five recurring I-70 characters you’ll meet every trip:
The Left Lane Camper
Lives permanently in the passing lane, usually going 5 under. Seems to have no idea that the great camping in Colorado is not in the left lane of the highway. Drives a silver Ford Escape with a bike rack — but no actual bike. Has out-of-state plates and no sense of shame. Able to single-handedly create a 12-mile backup during bluebird conditions.
Crawlin’ Carl
You see him coming — two semis side by side on a hill — Carl pulls into the left lane. Carl’s doing 31. The guy he’s passing is doing 30.99. You’re now watching an uphill drag race in molasses. You wager on which will come first, Carl getting back in the right lane or your next birthday.
The Interstate Slalom Skier
Rental car. Out-of-state plates. One AirPod in. Thinks blinkers are for the weak. Drives like they’re late for a heli-drop on Mars. Zigzags through traffic like an overcaffeinated squirrel and ultimately ends up in the same traffic jam as you, just two cars ahead.
The Road Rager
Drives a jacked-up black diesel pickup with tires taller than most cars. Approaches at warp speed, blasting clouds of black smoke like a steampunk dragon. I treat them like a moose on the hiking trail: avoid eye contact, ease out of the way, and pray they don’t charge.
The Passive-Aggressivan
My cruise control locked at 65, I pass him. Suddenly they realize they’re going too slow and speed up just enough to pass you back. Two minutes later, you’re passing them again. This continues until you either give up or do 90 for a few minutes to just get away.
In Scotland, the roundabouts were smooth, frequent, and elegant. In Colorado, a roundabout is a social experiment in chaos theory. I once saw a guy in Eagle drive the wrong direction through one like it was a scenic detour. No one even honked. We just sighed and accepted that we’d be two minutes later to Costco.
I don’t know what’s happened to us. Maybe it’s the altitude. Maybe it’s the weed. Maybe we’re all just so focused on chasing powder, fish, and Instagram clout that we’ve forgotten the basics — like staying right unless passing, or that a Chevy Astro with bald tires probably shouldn’t attempt Vail Pass during a snowstorm.
All I know is this: the next time I need peace behind the wheel, I’m heading back to Inverness. I’ll take one-lane roads, left-side driving, and the occasional sheep traffic jam over the Mad Max remake that is modern Colorado highway life.
Mark Lewis, a Colorado native, had a long career in technology, including serving as the CEO of several tech companies. He’s now retired and writes thriller novels. Mark and his wife, Lisa, and their two Australian Shepherds — Kismet and Cowboy, reside in Edwards.
