Road rage on Water Street, our town, USA.

I was not surprised by either honk.

It’s what happened next that awed me.

Our Town

It happened at this intersection on a busy Saturday morning in Decorah, Iowa.

I’d just picked up this program and lanyard.

Five downtown locations served as the venues for 43 free films, including the VFW, two bars, Arthaus, a home for artists, and The Hotel Winneshiek, the headquarters for the four-day event.

Program in hand, the lanyard around my neck, I had just left the hotel’s front doors to wait for the walk signal to cross the redbrick walkway.

Despite the jaywalking in the first photo, my forty-year home is George Bailey’s, Bedford Falls.

That even includes a community-owned bank.

We also have an 11-mile bike trail that circles the city, a liberal arts college, five coffee shops, a nighty music scene, a large co-op, and an eagle’s nestbeamed worldwide.

All eight thousand citizens are above average, even the non-Norwegians.

Of course, we don’t all see eye to eye.

And there is a murder every half-decade.

But we’re usually civil.

Especially while parallel parking on Decorah’s busiest street.

There was that episode ten years ago, also on Water, during the busy Christmas season. I had not quite started my car’s backward move into an open spot in front of our favorite restaurant when I noticed a guy do a quick U-turn to slip into the slot.

On the rare occasion, I do a You-ee on Water Street, it’s only to grab a free spot.

As he exited his car, I hit the button to roll down Rebecca’s passenger side window and said calmly, “So you broke the law to take my spot?” I noticed two young kids in the back of his car and heard someone I took as his better half telling him he should find another place, which he did.

This is how we work out our differences in my adopted community.

Which is why what I witnessed yesterday was so shocking.

The Horns

The incident occurred several hours before I took the first photo. The culprits were long gone.

Here’s the picture again with color-coded lines to help you follow the narrative.

A blue SUV had just rounded the corner and was through the crosswalk.

A white pick-up truck was starting to edge out of that 3rd parking spot.

Let me pause the story for a moment.

Iowa state law regarding car horns says the following:

The driver of a motor vehicle shall when reasonably necessary to insure safe operation give audible warning with the horn but shall not otherwise use such horn when upon a highway.

I just checked. Decorah plays by the same rule for its streets.

I’m sure you’ve given and received an audible warning. Where’s the horn button on your steering wheel? When you honk, do you use the palm of your hand, a finger, or a thumb?

I couldn’t remember, either, so I checked my Subaru Forester.

By the way, Decorah is the Subaru capital of northeast Iowa. Subaru’s and film festivals go together.

Anyway, the horn button is in the middle of the steering wheel, and I use my thumb.

What’s the longest period you’ve pressed your car’s horn?

To simulate, I took my car outside town to test my tooting tolerance. Naturally, I picked a location far from our eagle neighbors and their new eaglet.

My normal honk is .5 seconds.

Ten times that, five seconds, was my limit.

Blue SUV honked for 15 seconds as it swerved past the White pick-up and then was halted by the red light at the tip of the red arrow. Try keeping your hand on the horn for 15 seconds.

White pick-up reciprocated as it eased into the street behind Blue SUV in a paired, cacophonous quarter-minute bubble.

From a block away, I glanced at the stranger next to me as we shared a look of wonder, shook our heads, and walked across the street inside the red crosswalk boundary.

This morning, I checked our community’s online newspaper, Decorah News, and saw no murders were committed yesterday in Decorah, USA.