Life in the wild lane

Picking one's path through the chaos that is Dublin traffic these days, it's hard not to feel nostalgic for a bygone age when other road users would still routinely - it seems a quaint idea now - use their indicators.

You probably think this is a bit of an exaggeration, and of course it is. There never was a time when Irish drivers routinely used their indicators. But the rate of indicator usage does seem to have fallen dramatically in the last few years; and, personally, I blame the economy.

The problem was brought home to me forcefully a few weeks ago when, passing a taxi rank, I had to swerve to avoid a driver who shot out into the traffic without warning; and only then looked over his shoulder, to check if he'd hit anything.

This is not a good example, because taxi drivers are exempt from making the standard traffic signals "in any case where this could involve the risk of courtesy to another road user" (Road Traffic Act, 1964). But the practice in any case extends well beyond the taxi-driving community.

It's only a theory, but I believe the problem got worse with the success of the International Financial Services Centre. This brought a big influx of drivers for whom the intention to change lanes or make a turn in the immediate future was commercially-sensitive information, publication of which could have a detrimental effect on their short-term driving plans. The fact that most car indicators are operated by the right hand, which for many drivers was now permanently occupied by a phone, only exacerbated this situation.

The hazards caused by indicator non-use are obvious. In a typical situation, you're cruising along in the outside lane somewhere, when a gap of exactly one car-length opens up between you and the vehicle in front. Then, whoosh, the driver inside you takes a sudden lurch to the right, like Austria; and not only do you have to let him in, you have to brake to facilitate him.

Whereas the correct procedure in this case is that the other driver indicates his intention to move to the right; allowing you to close the gap on the vehicle in front and ensure the b*****d doesn't get in. And this is the crux of the problem. Because although economic success has aggravated the traffic chaos, there are factors at work here between male drivers that are older than civilisation itself. Complex issues of strength and weakness that affect even simple questions such as: Should I indicate? And inspire answers such as: No! Because that's exactly what he's expecting me to do!

I'm exaggerating slightly. But by coincidence, I was watching a programme about the Serengeti on the National Geographic channel the other night. The main protagonists were cheetahs (which, like the cars driven by many IFSC types, are capable of great speed, but useless in heavy traffic); and, as usual, the documentary had a cast of "characters" whose dramas were described in a grave voice by actor Elliot Gould.

There was a scatty mother cheetah who led her cubs from one potential disaster to another ("incredibly, despite the strong scent signals, she has ventured into hyena territory," Elliot would explain, gravely.) And there were the usual older male cheetahs, defending territories; and the younger male cheetahs, establishing territories; and so on. Some of them came to bad ends, and when they did, the documentary would skip the violence and move on to the aftermath, with philosophical words from Elliot.

But the depressing thing was, as always, that many of the decision-making processes of wildlife were familiar from everyday city driving situations.

Only last week, I had a run-in with a dominant, older male over a parking spot in D'Olier Street. Both of us was sure he'd found it first (although to cut a long story short, I was right). And the situation was tense until the miraculous emergence nearby of a second parking space; which the dominant male was obliged to "kill", distracting him long enough for me to make my getaway (as Elliot would have said).

Moving from big cats to small dogs; and maybe you read the sad story during the week about the Californian road rage incident which had tragic consequences for a Bichon Frise. This sounds like an expensive piece of interior decoration (and in a way, it is); but a Bichon Frise is also one of those canine dwarves which make noise in inverse proportion to their physical mass.

Anyway, according to Wednesday's Herald Tribune, one of them was travelling in a station wagon which tail-ended a jeep in heavy traffic in San Jose recently. The female driver of the first vehicle wound down the window to apologise to the (very irate) male driver of the second; whereupon the dog - who apparently mistook the man for a drive-in bank teller who always gave it goodies - leapt into its owner's lap and started barking excitedly. This really helped the situation, as you can imagine.

Which is not to excuse the actions of the male driver, who then plucked the Bichon Frise out of the car and flung it to the other side of the motorway, where traffic was - sad to say - moving freely. Taking a leaf out of the wildlife documentary producers' textbook, I'll skip the scene immediately following; and move on to say, as philosophically as I can, that the dog-murderer is now on the run, with a $40,000 reward on his head.

Frank McNally can be contacted at fmcnally@irish-times.ie