I saw it coming. Signs everywhere pointed to its inevitability. People sped to pass me or perhaps they were afraid to be caught between rocks and hard places. Not that I’m a rock. Nor am I a hard place.
After several hours I came upon it, that which had been foretold by the signs. I slowed to nearly a halt and waited, as I crept slowly forward.
I waited again.
And waited some more for some visible or tangible sign that the work was actually being performed.
The pace was perilously slow, the scenery barely changing as I peered out of my windows hoping to someday understand the reason for the warning.
Miles and miles and miles and miles I drove between two massive obstructions (semis) as I read multitudinous warnings along the way to slow down. Slow down.
I watched. Slow down for what? What was the reason for this laboriously slow pace mile after mile after mile after mile? Did anybody know? Would I find clues?
The hands on the clock started moving backward. It was yesterday now and I was still waiting for evidence to indicate why I should crawl between these towns. I found no reason for the warning.
And then, several miles later, I saw it.
After traveling seven miles down one lane of a four lane highway at a pace fit for a turtle, I could see absolutely why it was so imperative to block off seven miles of traffic. Because there, in front of me, were construction workers and their equipment attending to three square feet of pavement.