75 Stories - Pres. George Bush Turnpike

Construction traffic is a special kind of Hell. It takes the already bad situation with congestion and kicks it up multiple levels. All drivers feel the futility of slow traffic, the minutes and hours of their life ticking away. Road construction adds a couple of new elements. Drivers inevitably have fewer choices and somehow it seems no one can find an alternate way to go. The road is constantly changing so they must always be on the lookout even without the "Lane Change Ahead" warning.


Somewhere inside I try to console myself with the feeling, or rather hope, that it's all worth it, that at some distant point in the future we will be rewarded with a shiny new road where there's room for everyone and traffic flows like water. Otherwise, why go through all that mess? Yes, construction is Hell for drivers, but it offers an opportunity for new memories too.
Keeping that in mind helps, a little. It's easier to hold that view when I go back and review changes in the past to see how things have progressed and unfolded along with my life.


I lived in a suburb just north of Dallas for a dozen years and saw plenty of changes along US Highway 75. It runs roughly north-south and connects a major loop around Dallas, Interstate 635, with the cities of Richardson, Plano, Allen, and, farther out, McKinney. During those twelve years 75 was under constant construction. We used to joke that as soon as they built it the first time they immediately began reconstruction and planned to do that forever.


Even with the road work, 75 was usually the best route from anywhere around Dallas out to the places we lived in Richardson and Plano. Because of that I have strong memories of the bottleneck where it connected to I-635 along the Dallas-Richardson border. I don't know how much time I spent sitting in the car waiting as people funneled from four lanes down to two, trying to keep their cool in the hot Texas sun.


For a while my wife and I had jobs that allowed us to commute together and we'd be in the thick of the construction every morning and evening. One summer the radiator had a problem and we would have to turn on the car's heater full blast to keep it from overheating. Sitting among the cars after work with the sun beating down, moving slower than we could walk, in business casual, the only air circulation coming straight from the furnace churning under the hood... yup, that feeling was literally burned into our memories.


Toward the north, along the border between the suburbs of Richardson and Plano, a new turnpike was built as a third loop around the city. Within Dallas itself was Belt Line Road, aptly named as it ran nearly completely around the town. It was not a highway and so stoplights made it less than useful for getting places quickly. Next was I-635, an 8 lane highway that still managed to end up bumper to bumper during rush hour. Finally, the most recent loop, President George Bush Turnpike, was added, creatively abbreviated PGBT. It's 52 miles of multi-lane highway passing through three counties and nine suburbs.


President George Bush Turnpike intersected US-75 with six raised roads curving above the older highway. It took years to prepare the area and actually build those criss-crossing lanes in the sky. There was a long stretch where the two parallel lanes from the new Turnpike were built up on either side of 75 and stuck out into the air. My friend Derric and I took this as a challenge. With the intersection incomplete, the new turnpike lanes being built on either side of 75 were unused and more importantly to us, unmonitored at night.


We talked about visiting for several nights before we egged each other on enough to commit to do it. The sky was black as we drove over, though there were plenty of streetlights. It was fall so the temperature was under 80. We parked as close as we could, right behind the "road closed" barricades. There was no one there, but we still approached as we imagined some sort of black ops team would, hiding next to construction equipment or stacks of raw materials, darting from one place of cover to the next. We probably could have simply walked normally, but that didn't fit the excitement of the moment.


There was nothing to hide behind for the last few dozen yards to the edge. The lights were on everywhere so anyone looking would see us. We decided looking like we belonged was better than obviously sneaking so we stood up and walked. Our plan was to go right up to the edge and sit on it with our feet hanging over the 50 feet drop to the ground below. As we approached we saw how the road simply ended. Past the sharp edge of the concrete we could see re-bar sticking out like stubble on a giant's chin. The road was wide enough that the cliff filled our horizontal field of view.


We both started feeling the unease of vertigo as we approached the edge. Ten feet from the end Derric faltered. "I can't do it." he admitted and stopped walking.


"What? We're so close! You can do it." I cajoled, but he shook his head. Inside I felt the same, but my stubbornness won out over my fear. The tone of my "Alright." clearly showed my disdain, but I added a derogatory comment about his lack of bravery anyway. It was a classic young male thing to do, deriding someone for feeling the way you secretly felt but wouldn't admit, partially targeted at yourself to bolster your own courage.


I walked a few more feet then felt the elusive Texas breeze on my back. It was time to crawl. When my head was a foot from the edge I could see the cars whizzing by on 75 far below. Vertigo hit again and the world spun just a little. I looked back hoping Derric had gone back to the car, but he was right there watching. Dropping to my stomach I inched my way forward until my face was out over the abyss. I could smell the newness of the road. The fresh smell of the concrete was uncorrupted by contaminants from passing cars.


My lizard brain told me the hard concrete underneath me was just about to tip and slide me off. "Get out of here you idiot!" it said. In defiant response, I marked my accomplishment in the traditional male fashion. I gathered as much saliva as my dry mouth could muster and spit over the edge. I watched the small blob fall until I lost sight of it, still well before it hit ground.


My mission accomplished, I began my retreat the way I had come, first on my stomach, then my knees. Standing up I had one more flash of the road turning into a giant seesaw and rolling me backward. That put a quickness in my step countering the smile on my face. When I met Derric I didn't chide him further. I just said, "See. Not that hard."


Every time I passed under the turnpike driving on 75, or rode high in the sky on the new overpass, I remembered that night. Experiences can be anchored to the scaffold of those changing roads. As buildings rise and fall and streets are built and rebuilt it can be easy to forget the way things were before, getting lost in the Now in front of us. With focus, it can also be wonderful to drive through time and remember things past.