a construction zone less traveled

Driving the Route 7 construction zone north of Middlebury this morning, I had three cars behind me, lights on, none ahead of me. I passed River Road and cruised down the long hill, over the New Haven River. When I checked my rear-view a few moments later, the cars had vanished. I was alone. Instantly. And completely. No steamrollers or flaggers either. No double yellow lines, no broken white lines, the passing lane was gone. Only a black spill of fresh asphalt under my wheels. No cones or signposts. No rules. Had I missed a detour? Was I not supposed to be here? Where was everybody? I gripped the wheel tight. When I reached the top of the hill, I was relieved to see a few pick-ups at the Mobil station. A man pushing out the door of the store with a gallon of milk. No idea that just a few yards away lay the terror of total freedom.