Vol. 1, No. 12 — I can’t remember how long I lived in Germany before piloting a car on the infamous Autobahn. But I do remember the one visual I had my eye out for: the legendary no-speed-limit sign. Once I saw it, the expectations were clear. It had to push this sled to its absolute limit. I floored it. My rental car’s 3-cylinder, 61-cubic-inch diesel engine gasped as if I had just told an off-color joke.
I can assure you right on red was a thing in Lower Saxony for a solid 6 months. Also, the way drivers signal their displeasure varies slightly if memory serves. 😆
Now I have the opposite problem... when I'm back in the US, I'll sit and wait on a red until my passenger signals some impatience. Then I snap back into reality and turn right.
I can assure you right on red was a thing in Lower Saxony for a solid 6 months. Also, the way drivers signal their displeasure varies slightly if memory serves. 😆
Now I have the opposite problem... when I'm back in the US, I'll sit and wait on a red until my passenger signals some impatience. Then I snap back into reality and turn right.