Even though her Doctor's appointment was right after lunch on Tuesday, 115 miles away, the wife insisted on working most of the morning. Which meant we left town with only 135 minutes to get to the central part of Central City. A trip that normally takes 120 minutes under ideal conditions.

And had a long construction wait the last time I drove it.

We made good time until just past Independance Rock, when we hit the first flagger. A large, portly, smiling fellow, who simply held his sign and listened to the radio emanating from his DoT dump truck. Naturally, we just missed the previous pod of vehicles, just up the road following the Pilot Car (A truck, actually. In fact, they have all been trucks, in my experience. So why don't we call them "Pilot Trucks" instead? Is "Pilot Car" another sign of the insidious Nascar infection sweeping our nation?)

So, a twenty minute wait, watching not much besides the expanding girth of this fellow state employee. And asking the wife questions on the day's crossword puzzle.

Fortunately, we were first in line for our pod, so avoided the inevitable shuffling of faster vehicles past slow moving RVs and semis that always occurs after a construction zone.

Only to have all those vehicles pile up behind us again at the next construction site, just ten miles down the road.

Here, the flagger was a lean, weathered, smiling old man, who seemed to really be enjoying the cooler days this week. He hustled on over, and explained that they had workers afoot, removing the plastic covers from the plastic reflectors that would replace the median stripes until the road could actually be painted again.

I mean, he was positively enthused about his work. Had a demo model of the reflectors, and everything, showing how the plastic cover prevents the tar that is sprayed over the new asphalt surface from covering the reflective faces. And once the road was chipped and swept, someone had the back-breaking job of walking those ten miles of new pavement to remove each and every one of the plastic slip covers.

It sounded like he envied them, their work. Really.

Once we were properly educated, he moved back to explain their construction project to the semi driver behind us.

After informing us that the pilot car passages had been taking much too long, so they were going to institute a second pod of piloted vehicles through the hazardous wasteland.

Just as soon as the driver of said second Pilot Car pulled out.

We looked over in hope. Said driver of said second pilot car was standing besides his truck, slurping on his Big Gulp.

Really. We didn't go anywhere until he finished his leisurely lunch.

Now I should mention, that in an effort to accelerate our travel to Central City, we had skipped the usual pee break at Independance Rock.

And were now, after a half hour or so of sitting still, regretting that decision.

Immensely.

I wondered aloud if it would be violation of any law if I went over and peed on his pilot truck. Not exposing myself, mind you, which would be an obvious violation, but simply standing on the bumper and discretely relieving myself in the bed of his truck.

Really, anybody know? What law would that break?

But modesty prevailed, as did the tensile strength of my bladder. But we watched that driver sitting in the cab of his truck, savoring his lunch, for at least ten minutes before he deigned to lead us through the hazardous daytime trek across miles and miles of highway with tar-covered reflectors. By that time a second pod of vehicles had joined us from the construction to the rear.

If this was expediting travel, I would hate to have seen the wait we would have endured before his lunch break.

And we hit construction again at Government Bridge. Which, while not minor, was wholly irrelevant, since we were already hopelessly late to the appointment.