Keep disco lights flashing
This is in regard to Rebecca Driscoll’s letter, “Tone Down Disco Lights.”
I, too, have noticed a good increase in the Silver Saabs’ use of “disco lights” and would like to add my comments.
Instead of having a feeling of anxiety or suspicion with seeing a “poor sob” pulled over, I feel a greater sense of security and peace knowing that some of the worst small-town driving habits I have ever seen might be getting handled. I came to Aspen from driving with the 3 million other loons on the 405 Freeway in Southern California ” six to eight lanes of churning massive personality conflict. I didn’t expect the smaller version of it that often occurs here.
After nearly six years, I am often dumbfounded and downright scared of such vehicular delights as, say, the “Aspen Earth Moving Dump Truck Racing Team.” More than once on the corner of Mill and Main, I have seen the look on a happy visitor’s face go from one of placid pondering of surroundings to that of utter disappointment and disgust after witnessing the jarring sights and sounds of a dump truck rounding the left turn in that good ol’ “Gotta get there now” kinda way.
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Several of their smaller, diesel, construction truck-driving downvalley counterparts seem to often feel the need to bellow out a horrendously disruptive stench and second-gear explosion of noise as they vie for a pole position through a near red light in the 9:02 a.m. Main Street Nationals.
Of course the visitors are their own special breed, bringing us a wonderful variety of antics such as the “video stop” or the “Carl’s Pharmacy parking pause” in the middle of a busy thoroughfare. But I can’t really pick on them as they are often in a different mindset and are easily bamboozled by their own existence in Aspen.
The locals, however, ought to know better.
I get so bummed at how many ZG, VBS, VBT and other local plates I see doing the worst things. The 105-pound fake blonde mom in her 105-ton fake blonde Ford Explosion on the phone with no idea I am in her blind spot as she pulls the dreaded “Buttermilk hole-shot.” How about the hotel shuttle driver who tailgates me in a snowstorm? When I moved to Aspen, I, too, thought the speed limits were a little on the overzealous side.
After one summer, I quickly saw how much it is needed because of all the factors that play into such a decision. When you mix a good variety of hungover workers, ticked-off downvalley folks, stressed-out construction types from Rifle and plop in a dose of visitors, you have a fine recipe for problems.
I use to go comfortably along at 75 to 85 mph on the Hollywood Freeway. In or near Aspen, if I am doing more than 3 to 4 over the posted speed limit, I feel reckless.
I love this town very much but feel this is the one thing that is more than just a stigma in paradise. Get off the gas, people! Many of you shovel more crap in the air than we need to be seeing and smelling, and you are scaring our guests to boot.
Instead of condemning the Aspen Police Department, I want to thank them for helping to keep the small town streets of the Ute City safer.
Keep the “disco lights” a turning.
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