It's that season again. The frozen nights, the day time thaw. Do you know what that produces? No?
Then you don't live in Indianapolis.
We have a bumper crop of potholes already. (aka chuckholes, kettles) The street on the way to my job is a daily adventure. You have to shift positions ever so slightly every few feet to miss a little hole in the ground while constantly being aware of the sudden need to swerve sharply to miss a crater big enough to swallow a Hummer.
It's nerve-racking and exhilerating and it hones your driving skills for treks of I-465. You have to drive a fine line between not hitting the curb on your right and the on-coming traffic to your left while straddling and sideswiping chuck holes.
There's a turning lane over by the mall that looks like it was bombed in an air raid. You don't know whether to watch the road or the skies.
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