Lane ranger

Yep, all those other people cost you time

Each day, 82,000 people drive on State Road 60 in Brandon.

Take a deep breath. Say it again.

Eighty-two thousand.

Let's put that into perspective. Raymond James Stadium only holds 65,657 Buc Nasties. The population of Greenland is a measly 56,385. Heck, if every single person living in Brandon packed up and left town via SR 60, you'd still be 4,000 cars short.

Personally, I don't know where the Department of Transportation gets its statistics. The traffic count may be only 82,000, but it feels more like a million.

Have you seen the mall parking lot in December? You could fit 82,000 cars outside Dillard's and still have room for a car wash and two Christmas parades.

We all know this congestion has an effect on our daily commutes. But just how great is that effect?

Calculator in hand, I took a drive down Brandon Boulevard at rush hour to find out.

The way I see it, you have to make it from Interstate 75 to Kingsway Road before you're in the clear, so I selected as my starting point the Wal-Mart Supercenter just east of Kingsway. This made for about a 41/2 mile trip.

My goal was to stay as close as possible to the posted speed limit of 45 mph. At that speed, with no red lights, you should be able drive 41/2 miles in six minutes.

I popped in a little adrenaline-pumping mood music -- Guns N' Roses' Appetite For Destruction -- to help me through. And at just after 5 p.m. Tuesday, as Axl Rose welcomed me to the jungle, I crept onto the highway and headed west.

It took me eight minutes and 35 seconds to reach I-75, a decent time that owes much to my hitting just four red lights. That works out to an average speed of about 31 miles per hour.

My return trip was a little slower -- 10 minutes, 31 seconds, giving me an average speed of 26 mph. It's not a bad time, but it's about a 75 percent increase from the six minutes it could take with no traffic.

It's an inexact science, to be sure. But at least you'll have a number with which you can impress friends at dinner parties: Those 81,999 other drivers on the road make your drive about 75 percent longer.

And maybe 1,000 percent more irritating. Perhaps Axl said it best: "This traffic is hell -- can you give me a lift?"

I HAVE NOTHING BUT RESPECT for our men and women in blue in the Florida Highway Patrol. They perform their job admirably. I know I certainly have never pulled anyone from a burning Pinto on I-75.

However -- and I say this with more than a hint of fear in my voice -- some police officers out there might want to think twice before moonlighting as writers.

The reports they write are straightforward, although not what you would call conversational English. They use phrases like "failed to use due care," "was struck on the left front side by V-2's front," and "fled the scene on foot to an unknown location prior to writer's arrival." The driver "negotiates a curb." Or "executes a left turn."

But there are exceptions. One description of a three-car accident said the first driver witnessed the third driver "cutt off" the second driver.

Unless the third driver was speaking in cartoon-style thought bubbles, the spelling of "cut" as C-U-T-T -- as in cuttlefish and scuttlebutt -- was the officer's doing.

And a rear-end accident in Thonotosassa told how "vehicle 1 suddenly and for no reason slabbed on the brakes and came to a stop." To "slab," according to my dictionary, is to make "a broad, flat, thick piece, as of stone or cheese."

As in: "I'll never eat nine slabs of pork ribs in one sitting again." Or: "That Ben Affleck is one fine slab of man-hunk."

Again, these are minor, minor issues. You try executing flawless grammar with flaming wreckage 10 feet from your face, and see how well you do.

And it's not like the citizens of Hillsborough County are in any danger. In fact, many feel empowered to police themselves.

Take this driver, who was heading east on Interstate 4 near Plant City when out of nowhere a Ford pickup swerves into his lane and rams the passenger side of his Nissan. The Ford then zooms away.

Instead of doing what I would have done -- pull over to the side of the road and sob -- Mr. Nissan had the wherewithal to take down his assailant's tag number and call the police.

The cops found the pickup, and justice was served. For you, sir, an Axie.

For me, an apology to any officers of the law I offended with my lighthearted joshing.

I'll cutt it out. Just don't slab me with a ticket.