Here’s a common scenario. You’re barreling down the interstate, maybe somewhere on that desolate stretch of Interstate 80 between Rock Springs and Rawlins.

It’s a lot of flat, boring Red Desert where the antelope play.

This is why cruise control exists, you think to yourself as you lock yours in at 88 in an 80 mph zone. Even that feels slow. No one on the road except two semis in the slow lane about a mile ahead, or 5 miles ahead. It’s hard to judge distance in a state sprawled out like a Faulkner sentence.

You’re just about make it to the back bumper of the trailing semitrailer, ready to roar by when it pulls into the passing lane right in front of you to get by the truck he’s been following since, probably, Nebraska.

What!?

Bad words slip out of your mouth as you hit the brakes. Tha

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