I have driven down Main Street every morning at 8:15 a.m. for the last twenty-one years. It is a ritual that provides structure to a world that feels increasingly loose at the hinges. Recently, however, I encountered a driver at the four-way stop who actually came to a complete, full, and—dare I say—unnecessary halt.

The vehicle, a pristine silver SUV with a roof box that has clearly never seen a speck of trail dust, sat there for three full seconds. They were waiting for a pedestrian who was still two blocks away, clearly just enjoying the crisp morning air. Meanwhile, I sat behind them, my blinker ticking like a metronome of justice. If we stop for everyone who is merely walking, we will never arrive at our destinations.

This is the problem with modern Bozeman. We have traded the rhythmic, predictable flow of 2003 for a timid, overly polite hesitation. The rules of the road were designed to keep us moving toward our various civic duties, not to facilitate a social club in the middle of the intersection. When I mentioned this to my neighbor, Harold, he suggested that maybe I should try taking North 19th instead.

I told Harold that one does not simply change a two-decade-old route because of a sudden surplus of courtesy. I have a system. It works. If everyone would just maintain a steady, purposeful pace without overthinking the presence of other human beings, we wouldn’t have these backups. We are losing the fundamental Montana art of knowing exactly who has the right of way and taking it with polite, unwavering confidence.

Dale Crankshaft has been driving the same route to work since 2003 and considers any alteration a personal attack. He is retired but still drives the route.