I’m embarrassed to describe this all-too-frequent occurrence. I’m cruising west on U.S. Highway 287 toward Old Town, buffeted by oncoming semis bound for Wyoming, when my cell phone vibrates in my pocket.

I can ignore that one, I think. But wait, it might be that hard-to-reach doctor’s office. At least I’ll check the caller ID. I fumble for the phone, glance down, align the bifocals and read the display.

Hmmm, number doesn’t look familiar. Then, curiosity takes over, and besides, I’m an entrepreneur and when opportunity knocks, one answers.

Both hands on the wheel, but barely, the phone balanced in between, I flip it open and press it to my ear. The caller’s voice is deafening; I had forgotten to take it off speakerphone. From memory now, I thumb the toggle switch but miss, beeping a signal I don’t understand and displaying my speed-dial list.

I holler, “You still there?” They are. It’s the elusive doctor’s office with an appointment proposal.

After agreeing to phone back when I can access my calendar, I hang up. A tailgating semi downshifts loudly, complaining because I’ve fallen below the speed limit.

In that scenario, I’m klutzing all over the place, and I haven’t really gotten to the riskiest part: the in-depth conversation that draws the mind away from the road.

Mobile phones are ubiquitous in our lives, and lately, in the news, with the tragic death of 9-year-old Erica Forney, struck by driver Michelle Smith, who became distracted by her cell phone. And just last week, Smith’s mea culpa appeared in these pages.

One might find Smith’s court-ordered apology shy on personal responsibility and heavy on attributing the incident to statistical cause-and-effect. Nevertheless, the data on the dangers are sobering, undeniable and ever-present. Any of us could have drifted over into that bike lane.

Yet the Colorado Legislature seems in denial, wimping out on a chance to make our roads safer. The naysayers played scratchy old recordings like “Next, they won’t let me eat a cheeseburger behind the wheel.”

I heard echoes of gun-control debates, as if regulating the sale of assault weapons — machines designed to kill lots of people real fast  — would surely end pheasant hunting.

This past week, my 12-year-old son initiated Phase 1 of a sophisticated marketing campaign to convince his parents to buy him a cell phone.

I laid a trap, asking, “Why do you need one?” I was expecting to hear, “If you need to reach me at school in an emergency,” to which I would pounce, knowing full well that the school district has emergency communications nailed. He answered instead, “So I can stay in touch with my friends.” Very clever. We want our kids to have strong friendships.

But more than that, we want them safe, and that means never mixing phones and driving. Looks like I might have the law to back me up. It’s unfortunate the adults sharing the road with him will be exempt.

In parts of Europe a cell phone is called a “handy,” but I wish they weren’t so handy. Would I miss real-time communications while dodging trucks on 287? Not at all.

And I wouldn’t miss the shifting expectations in our society where one’s expected to be perpetually on call, where “You didn’t answer your cell phone!” has become an acceptable complaint.