Friday Observation. Drivers

If in winter the only liberty drivers allowed themselves was failing to indicate when turning, then with the arrival of what is now the second spring - because when the first one arrived, no one quite managed to "get into the groove" - driving in the oncoming lane, over pedestrian crossings and around blind bends is practically an everyday occurrence. On Twitter, notifications pop up one after another from time to time about how the latest hotshot has felt April's charming adrenaline in his blood, or conversely - its absence, and races his iron steed in places and manners that leave passing drivers and pedestrians with no choice but to accompany the manoeuvre with the appropriate gesture at the temple, rather than with the ovations the hotshot might have imagined.

Smirking at Twitter's fragile public nerve state - which could only be attributed to the thaw of a few synapses after a long-endured freezing - I set off in the direction of Mežciems. Turning from Brīvības Street onto Biķernieku Street, which in my imagination has always been one-way, a truck managed to "drive against traffic". And not slowly crawling along either. Some time earlier I had noticed a police "heavy" vehicle on my tail. One of those Volkswagen SUVs that a few years ago, during Linda's time in office, were purchased - presumably mainly for the senior brass. A certain bewilderment arose as to why the drivers ahead were rushing into the right lane (which after 50 metres turns off and leads to a dead end), but a moment later, finding myself face to face with an enormous truck, I quickly grasped that the outcome of the contest was already predictable, and I too pulled into the right lane. Looking in the rear-view mirror out of curiosity, I watched to see what the law enforcers would do, because although these didn't look like "catchers", some threat to society had been created by driving against the traffic signal, and by not much, to its property too. The police Volkswagen likewise pulled up face to face with the truck, they glanced at each other for a moment, were surprised, and the sheepish officers pulled into the right lane and trundled forward. Lingering a while longer on their tail, I strained in the rear-view mirror to make out the number plate of society's peacekeeping vehicle, but driving along Riga's notorious potholed streets, I never managed to gather my eyes in the jolting rear-view mirror.

At the same time, like the first snowdrops one by one, gleaming in the warm rays of sun, motorcyclists emerge. Modest models for now. Those for whom one twist of the throttle ends well beyond a hundred will probably wait a while longer until the last remnants of snow and ice disappear from the roadway.

Drive sensibly!

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