This is followed by a string of bad words and a glance in the rearview mirror to see just how much of your car was left behind in the crater you just ran over. After the bad words finally come to a stop, you then hope that you weren’t talking to your mother on the phone. Finally, you feel something dripping on you, and you look up to see coffee staining the entire roof and slowly draining down on you from the visor.
This is what driving in Minnesota these days is like. Potholes are pretty much the norm, much worse than anywhere else I’ve resided. Side streets are the worst, and it’s gotten to the point that, after hitting them several dozen times, I’ve committed many of these potholes to memory, allowing me to expertly swerve around them while I drink coffee and steer with my knee.
Minnesota has lost millions of dollars in state funding. This lack of money, along with the tumultuous winter, have combined to help bring about the runaway pothole bonanza. (I actually researched this fact, although it consisted entirely of me pulling up an article that I’d read a while back at work when I should have been, you know, working. I will, however, take credit for the phrase “runaway pothole bonanza”.)
There is one spot on Highway 6, as you’re nearing the intersection with 12, where it’s particularly bad. In fact, there aren’t any potholes there, per se, as much as the road is just sinking and rising so much that it pretty much resembles a sine wave. I’ve accidentally almost gotten air there several times, which would be cool if I was driving a ’69 Charger in Hazzard County, but which instead just elicits seasickness and a string of bad words. (Sorry, Mom!)
Usually I try to finish up a blog entry with some sort of snappy joke that ties everything together. However, this time I’m just going to go with a bunch of pictures of huge potholes I found on the internet:
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