Speaking as an East Coaster, I’ve honestly experienced more situations where I felt threatened on the road than on public transport.
Example: I was 19. I had an old Fiat convertible handed down from my sister who had bought it for $400, then couldn’t figure out how to keep it running. Driving back to college, I merged onto a freeway a bit too close to an old Honda Civic full of angry asshats. They changed lanes, came beside me, and one of them started waving a large knife out the rear passenger window, shouting, signifying, and swearing.
They passed me, but changed lanes in front of me whenever I changed lanes. Finally, I signaled left just before an exit, started changing lanes to the left, and cranked the wheel over to make the exit at the very last moment. They tried to do the same, but didn’t quite make it — they probably needed the services of an upholstery cleaner to get the brown stains out!
