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It took me 45 minutes to drive the two miles to work last night due to traffic. Yes, that’s right: there was a traffic jam in Ames, Iowa.

Iowa as a whole isn’t really known as a high-traffic area. Sure, we’ve got two of the country’s major thoroughfares (Interstates 35 and 80) bisecting the state, but most of the throughput keeps to its own business. A mile or two off the Interstate, when (if) you pass a car going in the opposite (or, heaven forbid, the same) direction, you’ll likely evoke one of two responses:

• A friendly wave, because they know you, or will soon enough, or
• A look of mild surprise at having seen another car on the same road.

I mean, I’m ~from~ Iowa, and when I think “Iowa traffic jam” I can’t help but visualize two cows standing head to head in the middle of a cornfield, each bellowing for the other to get out of the way. Not that we Iowans bellow (or honk, whichever your vehicle prefers). I’ve owned my car for around 18 months now, and I think I’ve used the horn twice: once to wake up (or resurrect) an old man who I’m pretty sure fell asleep (or died) at the light, and once to let Sammie know that we were, in fact, still waiting in the car, and that her hair surely looked good enough for a run to Wal-Mart by now.

But anyway, back to my story.

Ames is a decent-sized Iowa town of approximately 70,000 people. A lot of people who work in Ames do so at the University, located at the northish side of town, and commute home via Highway 30 and Interstate 35 at the southish side of town. As such, there’s a fair amount of north-south traffic around the hours of eight in the morning and five in the evening. Normally, this isn’t a problem. However, all the roads (save a couple) suffer the same flaw: they’re bisected by a set of railroad tracks.

My voyage to work followed as… well, as follows:

• 4:53pm - Left my house on 6th Street (slowly, in order to check out the cute girls working the daycare next door *g*) and drove the five or so blocks to Duff Avenue.
• 4:55pm - Approached the tracks on Duff just north of Lincoln Way. Realized that the train on the tracks was stopped. Completely.
• 4:56pm - In a stroke of genius, I turned onto 5th Street and headed back to 6th in order to make my way to Grand Avenue, the only street on this half of town which passes under the railroad tracks.
• 4:57pm - Turned onto 6th Street and came to a complete stop, surrounded by hundreds of other people who had obviously eavesdropped upon my genius.
• 5:10pm - I’m in front of my house again. The daycare girls are inside. Luckily, I have Red Hot Chili Pepper’s “Love Rollercoaster” playing on my CD player and I’m feeling pretty good.
• 5:15pm - Now I’m listening to “Short Skirt, Long Jacket” by Cake. I’m still in front of my house.
• 5:20pm - I squeal my tires turning onto Grand Avenue, momentarily frightening an old woman in a motorized wheelchair with an oxygen tank strapped to the back. Two seconds later, I come to a complete stop.
• 5:30pm - The old woman in the motorized wheelchair passes me and turns right at Lincoln Way.
• 5:33pm - I stop laughing at the irony of it all.
• 5:38pm - I finally arrive at work, nearly half an hour late. I tell Mark he can’t go home. Mark cries, but only a little. He’s my strong little buddy.

It’s sorta funny, because I was in a really bad mood when I left for work, but the ironies the traffic jam provided were enough to cheer me up a bit. Of course, I think you’ve gotta be in a pretty bad state in order for something like a traffic jam to improve your condition. *g*