Some dude in some kind of Chevy or GMC 2005 plus or minus half a decade SUV ended up going my way for several miles.
His truck had wider-than-standard tires that stuck out beyond the fender wells by a couple of inches, which used to be a fix-it ticket offence in California. The front wheels tracked about three inches to the left of the rear wheels, like a one-eyed dog trotting down the sidewalk. That's how I know it was a Chevy type product. Never seen a Ford or a Dodge do that. There was a throaty hole in his exhaust system somewhere, or a cut-out system, and the engine was at a stage that we used to call "Yeah she burns a little oil."
I pretty much merge toward the slow lane after the intersection of the interstates, and then I stay there. It's not a long commute, so if I take a low key approach and let every merging vehicle in, miss every light, and end up behind every overloaded truck trying to make it to the dump before it closes, it still loses me very little time. What's a minute and a half, three minutes? So I don't press and don't stress.
The Chevy SUV took a different tactic. He would roar up to the slow landfill-bound truck and tailgate for a while, then roar out two or three lanes and try to pass some people. But every time, he ended up just one space ahead of me. It was like going for a walk with a hyperactive retriever that doesn't know how to heel, but goes roaming around about and back with his tongue hanging out -- and trotting along with his front paws a bit to the left of his rear ones.
We parted ways just before I turned left on the Crowndot street of residence. Somebody in front of Mr. Chevy turned up the hill, giving him a clear path ahead, and off he roared in a cloud of partially burned diesel and motor-oil soot.
Bottom line: I don't want to hear a damned thing about MY carbon footprint.