"What rights?" I asked.
"Well, the right to know. For example, when I'm driving south on 1-95, I often ask myself, 'Am I only 1,000 miles from South of the Border?' That's a question only a billboard can answer."
I was beginning to see his point. If the bill made it through the house, glitzy roadside tourist spots would take a beating. But I pointed out that this might be a good thing.
"No, you misunderstand me. I like to keep at least 1,000 miles away from South of the Border. I'm allergic to black velvet paintings."
"Fair enough. But what about the South Africa provision--isn't that a effective statement against apartheid?"
"Now hold on--the provision you're referring to is more than a statement; it will actually allow local governments to reject low bids on road work contracts from companies which do business in South Africa. Personally, I feel that only people crazy enough to carry on business there are crazy enough to work on American highways. No sane man would dodge speeding El Dorados to pour molten asphalt for a living."
"Okay, so you don't like the other two provisions. But what about raising the speed limit? You have to admit that's good news."
His brow furrowed. A large drop of sweat formed on Rutger's prominent brow, then rolled off, extinguishing his Camel filterless. He spoke. "No, it's bad."
"But why?"
"Well, it's setting a precedent, for one thing. If the government goes changing the speed limit every decade, they'll start thinking they can change it whenever they want. You'll go to bed and the speed limit will be 120; you'll wake up and Route 66 will be designated a school zone. It'll wreak havoc."
"So you're saying the government has to be consistent?"
"No, that would be dull. But it should at least know what it wants. In the '70s the government was telling us to drive safely and save fuel--now they seem to want wastefulness and wanton destruction. I think they must have gotten their domestic and Central American policies mixed up."
OBVIOUSLY, POLITICS was more complicated than I had realized. Years of hard work, selfless determination, and $1000-a-plate dinners would be needed before I could hope to fathom such a complex issue. But I had one final question for Mr. Fury before I left.
"Okay, Rutger, you don't like the new bill. But if it passes, will you go 65?"
"No point changing my habits," he shrugged. "I'll just keep on driving 70 like everyone else."