Hawaii Kai into town took a cool 20 minutes.

There was street parking in downtown Honolulu.

Impossible left turns were a breeze.

Monday traffic was shockingly excellent, colossally smooth, blessedly nonexistent and totally awesome. What’s the opposite of a traffic jam? It was Monday. And it was good.

The combination of no school, no University of Hawaii-Manoa classes and a state holiday that isn’t a big shopping holiday turned the usually gnarly Monday traffic into something actually pleasant, even fun. Remember happy Sunday drives out to the country long, long ago? Heading into town was like that. No joke.

It was like jumping into the DeLorean, hitting the flux capacitor and going back in time 30 years to when traffic wasn’t the soul-crushing, nerve-frying experience that it is every single day.

Traffic was so light, you could imagine days of jumping in the VW and cruising out to Magic Island in your Otaheite dress and Clark Chang slippers while singing along to a cassette of Brother Noland’s “Jaime Lee.”

Traffic was so light, you could recall driving out to check the surf before school, catching a couple of waves and making it back to campus to park your Camaro in the shade under the banyan and slide into your seat in Mr. Yamato’s homeroom before the tardy bell. No traffic, no worry.

Traffic was so light, you could actually remember way, way back to when you thought driving was fun; when steering a car seemed as slick as piloting a jet, and going somewhere, almost anywhere, made you feel free; when you would never think of driving with all the windows up because you’d miss out on that sweet summer breeze; when you’d stick your elbow out the window because you felt so at ease and because in that position you were ready for a friendly wave, and you would wave to people on the road because you saw people you knew, and they didn’t look furious or anxious or really, really beaten down. Now people in cars look really anxious or beaten down. People on the bus look like they’re holding their breaths and cultivating the 1,000-yard stare. Nobody cruises anymore. Some race, some weave in and out like maniacs, but they don’t cruise. On Monday you could cruise.

Traffic on Monday was how traffic used to be. How traffic should be. How traffic could be again if only … if only …

There are about a thousand “if onlys” there, and none of them very believable. Traffic like that means fewer people on the road, not fleets of bikes or trains. Less is not in our future.

Monday was the day for politicians to be sign-waving on the side of the roads. On a regular day there are thousands more drivers, but on Monday anyone out on the road was immeasurably happier and much more likely to smile back at a smiling face, forget all the empty promises and think, “Yeah. I would vote for you. Look at me! My car is moving, brah! I love everybody!”

Reach Lee Cataluna at 529-4315 or lcataluna@staradvertiser.com.