Expressway: An also-ran in the LIE derby

Lou DeCaro lives in Wading River.

I recently visited my sister in upstate Dutchess County. The night before I came home, we watched the movie "Secretariat." I never imagined how the movie and my ride home to Long Island the following day would be so similar.

My horse race of sorts began at the toll booth on the Throgs Neck Bridge. All the cars reminded me of thoroughbreds guided by jockeys as they bolted from the toll plaza starting gate. Three cars immediately cut me off, and I quickly found myself behind the rest as I made my way onto the bridge.

Halfway over the span, cars lunged ahead as their drivers pressed their accelerators to the floor. Vehicles of all kinds flew forward.

Many rocked to and fro like the bobbing heads of a horse quickening its pace. Spewing exhaust from their tail pipes like the exhalations from a horse's nostrils on a cold day, I suddenly found my 2010 Ford Escape surrounded by the roar of engines as we approached the first turn leading to the Cross Island Parkway.

Even though the start was pretty intense, the race didn't really get serious until all the horses, I mean cars, made their way onto the Long Island Expressway. I was curious to see how many would pass me, so I decided to go exactly 55 mph in the slow lane all the way to Exit 70.

That decision turned out to be a dangerous one.

Just as I got onto the Expressway, it began to rain heavily. But that didn't deter my fellow jockeys from exceeding the speed limit. As I took my position in the right lane, two cars sped past me on the left, and one passed me on the right using the shoulder. I was in the middle of a stampede as I accelerated to the speed limit. Then I set my cruise control to 55.

Car after car sped past me like thoroughbreds outpacing a nag.

Instead of dust, they left behind a constant spray of water, straining my wipers. A very old Ford Pinto belching black smoke pulled up behind me, and then jumped in front without signaling. As I passed Exit 39, I read a sign that said traffic was moving well to Exit 51.

That's all the other drivers needed to see. The coast was clear to go as fast as they wanted.

Truckers had a field day with me. Streaking past in a merciless display of brute strength and determination, I felt like Pegasus without wings.

At Exit 51, I noticed the same Ford Pinto that passed me earlier. It pulled up lame, courtesy of the Suffolk County sheriff. But even an overhead sign -- "Caution: Reduce Speed, Construction Ahead" -- did little to slow the pack.

Traffic began to thin as I got to Exit 68. It seemed as if I had been passed by every car on the road. But then came my big chance to pull ahead of someone. Still going 55, I began to gain ground on a silver Ford Mustang convertible with a black top riding slowly in the middle lane. At first, I thought the jockey was a man, but when I pulled up alongside the Mustang, I noticed the driver had beautiful blond hair.

When she finally noticed I was looking at her, she simply smiled at me and raced ahead. I think she exited the Expressway at Exit 69.

Unlike Secretariat, there was no come-from-behind finish for me today.

But that wasn't important. Getting back to my stall safely was all that really mattered.