This might be elitist, but if you are so afraid of your car that you can't go over thirty miles an hour on a clear, dry day, you do not belong on the fucking interstate highway.
I can understand being a
little afraid of your car. It's been two years since I got my newish Honda Civic, built during the period when Honda was experimenting with increasing fuel efficiency by making the car weigh three goddamn pounds. Crazy bitch of a thing still spooks me out sometimes, because you can feel just how much traction you don't have in conditions like the rain, snow, and fog all at the same time that I had to drive home through last night. And I guess that there is something pretty inherently frightening about being behind the wheel of a hurtling projectile of death.
That said, if you cannot work up the nerve to go at least fifty-five miles an hour, or even figure out which part of the on-ramp you should use to get onto the freeway--hint: it isn't the far left shoulder--you do not belong there. Trying to putter along the freeway at thirty miles an hour while there's a stack of cars trying to merge on behind you and oncoming traffic in the right lane is, in fact
insanely dangerous. Braking repeatedly when you get up to forty does not make it less so. The car right behind you while the cars behind us try to pass on the right in the same lane or floor it to build up highway speed and then suddenly realize how slow this lane is actually going just in time to almost cause a wreck by cutting into the left lane without paying any attention to how fast traffic goes in the left lane.
Actually, you guys behind me suck too. I don't even get people who pass on the right when there are three actual lanes and the left--which is the one you're supposed to use in America--is free and clear. But
in my fricking lane? Space for traffic to merge into the right lane =/= viable alternative for going around slow traffic. One car-length is not worth dying over. Just stop tailgating and doing dumbass things like that and simmer down a minute. Having some douche who wanted to do ninety right out of the gate in my back seat wouldn't even have the minor black humor going for it that the jackass behind me last night who apparently thought that forty mph is unreasonably slow for a winding, narrow country road in the rain/snow/fog at night ("wouldn't it be funny if a deer ran out in front of me and I stopped in time to miss it, but this jerk hit me instead?") did. Elementary physics, kids. Learn you some.
(tangential rant: WTF, Honda? I know that Japan has weather. Why would you design a car that can't operate safely even on moderately slick roads or winds over five mph? It wasn't terribly much better, but I miss my Protege so much.)