A conceptual drawing of traffic engineer Scott Thompson's proposed hyper-roundabout. The cars on fire are a normal byproduct of the traffic pattern and should not be cause for concern, unless you are a driver or passenger in one of those cars.

DECATUR, Ill. – Scott Thompson loves roundabouts, and not just because of their superior traffic handling capabilities.

“Basically, they’re a great tool for messing with people’s heads,” said Thompson, 55, traffic engineer with the Illinois Department of Transportation. “We’ve done a lot messed-up things like three-way yield signs and LED traffic arrows, but none of them has generated the confusion and – I’ll just come out and say it – the paralyzing fear that roundabouts have. I love ’em.”

Cultural barriers

That paralyzing fear stems from deep-seated, primal insecurities over the circular design of the roundabout, says University of Chicago psychology professor Jack Knutson. These insecurities originate in childhood and are fostered during a life ordered by a contrary shape – the straight line.

“Euro-American societies, particularly in the midwestern United States, have always ordered themselves along straight lines,” Knutson said. “That’s typical of a male-dominated society. In pure geometrical terms, males represent themselves best in the form of a straight line. The circle is of course a traditionally female shape and one that nearly all Euro-American men – and a good share of our women as well – are uncomfortable with.”

Knutson cited the example of the standard American classroom. Generally, desks are arranged in columns and rows, and the focal point of students’ attention is the teacher at the front of the room. Knutson explains:

“Every Midwesterner has the distinct college freshman memory of that one wacky class in which the teaching assistant, who preferred to sit on top of her desk in the lotus position, would ask students to rearrange their chairs into a circle. Usually it was something like ethnic studies or some other required but useless course that nobody wanted to be in, which was bad enough, but the circle thing just creeped everyone out. Instead of focusing our attention past someone else’s back toward the teacher, we were forced to look at each other and acknowledge each other.

“The roundabout phenomenon poses similar social quagmires. Instead of mindlessly following the rigid order of the traffic light, we must face and acknowledge other drivers and make our driving decisions based upon social interaction rather than a random electronic sequence. From a Midwesterner’s perspective, that’s a nightmare.”

‘Commie-fag things’

Resistance is borne out in drivers such as Theresa Schmidt, 42, of Warrensburg, who meticulously plans her daily errands to minimize encounters with roundabouts. But occasionally they’re unavoidable.

“Sometimes I’m hushing Dakota and passing back Britney’s Gameboy and I’ve got (husband) Hunter on the cell, and then Tim McGraw comes on the radio, so I’ve gotta crank it, and suddenly I’m like ‘Shit! There’s a roundabout.’” Schmidt said. “So I do what they say – I check for traffic to my left, go into the roundabout and close my eyes until I’m out of it. Lucky for me I drive a Lincoln Navigator.”

Rory “R-Dawg” Hietpas, 29, of Harristown isn’t so subtle about his distaste for roundabouts.

“If I ever see one of those commie-fag things, I just kick the Chevy into 4-wheel-drive and take ’er right over the middle, where all them fancy flowers are,” says Hietpas. “Any traffic to my left gets a taste of 12-gauge buckshot, and Mr. Queer-boy’s liable to find Firestone tracks on the hood of his Prius.”

So why, considering the substantial psychological hurdles to overcome, does Thompson continue to push for more roundabouts in the Decatur area?

“Look, let’s be honest, this town is a shithole,” he said. “Take a drive around – you’ve got basically three components: suburban housing and strip malls strewn across subdivided farm fields. It’s a wasteland. So every time I get pissed about it, I just throw another roundabout into the mix, and it makes me feel better.”

The next generation

Thompson’s disdain for his hometown inspired him to create the state’s first super-roundabout, scheduled for completion in 2009, but he’s got even bigger plans in the works. He’s begun preliminary designs for a massive traffic circle at the intersection of Interstate 72 and U.S. 51 – a monstrous concoction he’s dubbed a “hyper-roundabout,” through which traffic would continue move at highway speeds of 65 mph.

“Basically, you’re going to need the instrument panel of a Boeing 767 to navigate this thing,” Thompson said. He noted that there is the very real possibility of time travel as a side effect to passing through the roundabout, an interesting development he hopes to use as a selling point with wary motorists.

“If my calculations are correct, you’ll come out of this thing 6-7 minutes younger than you were when you went in,” he said. “I think this will finally put us over the hump with seniors.”

But Thompson cautioned that the hyper-roundabout is more concept than reality. Completion on such a project can only be estimated in decades rather than years.

“I won’t see it in my lifetime,” Thompson said. “But I’ve laid the groundwork, and my son (28-year-old assistant traffic engineer Josh Thompson) will carry on my vision. My grandson (Josh’s 6-year-old son Jacob) is already picking up on the fundamental principals of the one-lane roundabout, and with continued training and a little luck, he will be the chosen one to see this labyrinth of evil to fruition.”

Categories: News, Technology
Tags: gender politics, transportation