Valley Gurl Series: Valley Drivers be likeeee

Have you ever noticed that the second you drive into the San Fernando Valley… something just shifts?

All of a sudden, it’s like every type of driver appears at once. Speeders flying past you, tailgaters right on your bumper, and then someone in the next lane going way too slow like they’ve got nowhere to be. It’s not just one kind of bad driving—it’s all of it, all at once. And honestly, we don’t really have a clean way to describe it… but yeah, it’s definitely a thing out here.

The Valley itself kind of explains why.

It’s wide, open, and stretched out. Long boulevards, big intersections, long distances between everything. You’re not weaving through tight city streets—you’re cruising, stopping, accelerating, repeating. Over and over again. That kind of space gives people a sense of freedom, but also this weird impatience. Like you should be moving faster… even when you physically can’t.

And then there’s the traffic lights.

Let’s talk about those for a second, because they honestly make no sense sometimes. Some of them are not timed right at all. You’ll be sitting at a red light while the one ahead is green, just watching it like… “really?” And then by the time you finally move forward, the next light turns red and now you’re stuck again.

There’s one in Porter Ranch that perfectly explains this. You stop at one light, the next one ahead is green, and you’re thinking, “okay, I’m good.” But by the time you actually reach it—boom, red. Now you’re waiting again, just trying to get onto the freeway. It takes forever just to move a few feet. I don’t know… it’s pretty bogus if you ask me.

Speaking of freeways—yeah, we call them freeways here.

In California, especially in the Valley and Los Angeles, it’s always “the freeway.” Other places call them highways or interstates. Here? It’s “the 405,” “the 101,” like they’re actual characters in your life.

And honestly… I’ve never really liked them.

Freeways always mean traffic. And around here, traffic isn’t just a small inconvenience—it’s something you have to plan your life around. We don’t measure distance in miles. We measure it in minutes.

“How far is that?”

“Like 25 minutes… without traffic.”

Because with traffic? That same drive could easily turn into an hour.

And traffic out here is constant. There’s always something causing it—people rubbernecking, bad driving, merging lanes, construction, accidents. Merging alone feels like one of the biggest reasons everything slows down. One lane turns into two, two into one, and suddenly everyone forgets how to drive.

And when there’s construction? Forget it.

When there’s an accident? You’re not getting anywhere anytime soon.

And don’t even get me started on the Interstate 405.

That freeway is a whole experience on its own. Going “over the hill” just to get to places like Culver City or Santa Monica feels like a mission every single time. It’s unpredictable, it’s packed, and somehow it’s always worse than you expect.

What’s crazy is during the pandemic, that same drive could take like 30 minutes. Before and after? Easily an hour. That alone tells you everything about how bad it’s gotten.

The Interstate 405—also known as the San Diego Freeway—is basically part of everyday Valley life at this point. Same with the U.S. Route 101. Most of the time it’s manageable… but when it’s bad, it’s bad. Especially during weekdays and rush hour.

Which, by the way—shoutout to Robin Williams for saying:

“Why do they call it rush hour when nothing moves?”

Honestly… that says it all.

For me personally, I don’t even leave the Valley that much anymore. Back then, it wasn’t this busy. Places weren’t as crowded, traffic wasn’t as constant. Now? Trying to go anywhere on a Saturday—whether it’s the beach, an amusement park, or even just another part of LA—it’s chaos.

Sundays though… Sundays are different.

That’s probably the calmest day to be on the road. Less traffic, less pressure, just overall quieter. That’s why I prefer leaving or coming back from trips on Sundays. It just feels easier.

But even with all of this—the traffic, the frustration, the randomness—there’s still something about driving in the Valley that sticks with you.

Cruising down a long boulevard as the sun starts to set. The sky turning that soft orange-pink color. The streets calming down just enough. For a moment, everything feels still.

Late nights when the roads are empty, and you can just drive without thinking.

Those quiet, in-between moments where the Valley feels peaceful in a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived it.

That’s the part people don’t always see.

Because yeah, Valley driving can be chaotic, frustrating, and confusing.

But it’s also familiar.

It’s routine.

It’s part of everyday life in a way that somehow becomes… comforting.

You start to recognize it. You start to expect it.

And eventually—

You become part of it.