I-25 Albuquerque

From Rio Bravo to Alameda, I-​25 surveys the breadth of Albuquerque in both a flattering and unflattering light.
Coming up from the south, you’ll find endless stretches of empty plots (slaughter houses, auto cemeteries, auctioneers, a fine golf course, and cemeteries) that lay claim to desert soil. Following the airport, the highway drops from 65 mph to 55 mph, and no one pays attention to this «safety zone» because it’s never policed, so it’s best to stay at 65 because everyone else will consider you a sucker if you slow down.
Once you pass this minor few-​mile area, stay in the left lanes, because suckers like me often try to merge from the Coal on-​ramp, which offers about one block of time to get on before descending back to an off-​ramp. Seriously, this particular freeway entrance peeves me like nothing else. Not only do you have very, very little room to merge, but you’re at double jeopardy because NO ONE IN THIS CITY KNOWS WHAT A TURN SIGNAL IS. They don’t use ‘em and they don’t look for ‘em. The exceptionally sad result of this unspoken native truth is that transplants like me eventually adopt the If You Can’t Beat ‘Em Join ‘Em mentality, forgetting to use our own, as well.
So I guess I’m part of the problem, but at least I understand the concept of merging. Like, I pay attention to vehicles entering and exiting the freeway, especially when I’m driving in the right-​hand lane. Burquenos? I don’t get it. Either they’re honestly, totally unaware that other people exist, or they’re completely self-​absorbed and couldn’t care less about sharing the road. And I think the answer is painfully obvious.