Due to a recent move, winter, and other obligations, I've been driving the Dan Ryan daily from 95th down to the Loop. Like no other driving experience I've ever had, the Dan Ryan scares the horsepiss out of me. Perhaps it's the drivers that routinely drive 80mph making sudden lane changes in order to keep up their speed, many times I've looked in my rearview and seemingly from nowhere a car has appeared, so close I can't see his headlights, then makes a lane change, punches it and is gone. Or maybe it's the construction that squeezes the traffic too close together. Maybe it's the thousands of trucks whose drivers drive like they're tweaked on crystal meth. Or is it the vast space it occupies where human emotion is played out with steel, concrete and hydrocarbons at nothing under 50mph (swear to God, if you drive 50 in the left "fast" lane you will be killed, murdered on the spot). Could be that I'm just getting older and have learned the hard way that life is precious and all I want is to get home safely to my family. I've talked with others and we all agree the Dan Ryan is an insane roadway. I stay in the right lane as much as possible and keep it around 55 or even 50 if I'm cocky. The other night I was offered a glass of wine and I refused, saying I had to drive the Ryan home. With Spring coming I've stated that I'll be on the bike again. People say I'm crazy for riding my bike into the city from 95th street. They're right to some degree, I'll be pedaling through thick sections of poverty, but I tell them, I would rather some thug kill me with a crowbar while riding my bicycle than the horror of my Escort smashed into a cement barrier on that shepherd of the devil, the Dan Ryan. The real Dan Ryan, a federal judge that fit nicely in Old Man Daley's pocket, must be looking down from his Heaven: Department of Graft wringing his hands. Imagine having this wreckage named after you; a curse forever to bear. We ought to change the name to reflect it's truer meaning, why don't we call it the John Wayne Gacy Highway.