Monday, April 6, 2009

Pot

Bet you thought this post was going to be about this:



Or perhaps, this:





Maybe even this:



And for those of you who think I only post crass, sexually suggestive photos here...possibly this, the duct tape boys:



But, you would all be wrong...this post is not about the evil weed...cooking pots...pot pies...or the height of sophistication, every girl's dream and the epitome of raw, male sexuality. Nope, it's about this:



That's correct...it's about pot all right...potholes. Not just any potholes, but the mother of all potholes! In the place of the mothers of all pot holes...Lincoln, Nebraska.

California has fire season, mudslide season, earthquake season and Santa Ana Winds season. Here on the great American Plains, where the buffalo roam, where the prairie dogs foam, and football reigns...we...have tornadoes and...pothole season. And because we are a poor state...and because potholes abound with the freeze, thaw, feeze, thaw, fickleness of Nebraska weather...and because the local pothole team consists of one old guy with a rusty shovel, who can only advance laterally to John Deere Mower Operator, come June...which affects his potholeness repair attitude and rapid response to the same...and because potholes are like rabbits...and coat hangers...they multiply quickly when you turn out the lights, or look away. And simply because yesterday you went down a certain street and there were only three potholes...and you, YOU, know EXACTLY where they are located...well, a fool and his front alignment are soon parted.

I am that fool.

The photo above is a photo of the results of supreme arrogance. My arrogance. My stupidity. My trust that the street upon which I traverse, every day. A street that I have come to love...is still an old friend and safe. But I have been betrayed. The smooth ride is over and I will never view this street in the same way again. You see, when my cell phone rang I was temporarily distracted, but without fear, because I was at the only block on this street that was...WAS...pothole free. I looked at my phone. I answered my phone. My mind became one with the phone and the person on the other end...and...it...gobbled...my...bumper...and tire (the hole fools, not the phone.) "The" hole was at least 34 feet deep. Just short of the depth of the Mariana Trench, which is just east and south of the Mariana Islands, near Guam, and happens to be the deepest hole on the planet. I am lucky to still be in the same hemisphere where I live, much less still alive.

I can only equate this hole with the treacherous, evil, sinkholes of Central Florida. I recall one such sinkhole gobbling up an entire BMW Dealership in Winter Park, overnight, sometime in the mid-1980s. It would have been far better, it seems to me, had it been a Ford Dealership, but hey, God works in mysterious "holy" ways, I always say.

This is not the whole hole story, there's more, but I have other things to do...such as surfing the net for cheap bumper skins...and shovels.

Oh, and for those of you who noticed...yes indeed, that is transparent duct tape, which is keeping the part that houses the fog lights from flapping in the breeze...not to mention the fog. A temporary bit of circumstance, but a testament to the adage that much of the world is held together by duct tape...excepting potholes.

19 comments:

Moko said...

Be thankful you weren't on a motorbike.

Doug said...

That was one a heck of a pothole. I remember hearing on a Toronto newscast (and just looked it up) that the city repairs an average of 165,000 potholes per year. They have 100 guys (with nice, shiny shovels, I bet.)

jadedj said...

Moko---a fast trip to China with this one.

Doug---well, I do exaggerate a bit. Actually, considering the tremendous number of potholes we get, they do a pretty fair job. I just got careless and passed over this one before they got to it. It did bust the piss out of my bumper...and blew the tire. It was a monster.

mr-stu said...

Sorry but I laughed out loud at that post not because of the unfortunate incident but because of how you wrote it! Must say our roads never have holes 34 feet deep only a few inches before the guys come out to fix it and then close the road or put restrictions out for weeks on end.

Lou said...

Sorry about the vehicle but ditto Stu your story did make me laugh. You might have ended up in me and Moko's side of the planet if that pothole had been only millimetres deeper phew!! That would've sucked as you're just finishing winter and you'd have to start another not that Brisvegas where Moko is has a winter but here in NZ we certainly do...sorry I'm rambling.

You seemed keen to participate in the meme I posted yesterday so feel free "You're tagged!"
http://louise-nz.blogspot.com/2009/04/tagged.html

jadedj said...

mr-stu---we only close roads here towards the end of the fiscal year...whether in need of repair or not. If they don't use up the budget monies, they lose them.

Lou---Jeez, I never thought about the winter angle. I am a lucky dude indeed!

I will do the tag for sure, but it'll have to wait a bit...I have a bumper to repair.

Anonymous said...

Lincoln, NB? Holy cow, I think that most of my family came from your parts.
What crappy roads they have! Good luck repairing the bumper.

jadedj said...

Dedene---obviously your family has told you about the holes from hell, and the dangers of ending up on the other side of the planet, if encountered.

fragilewisdom said...

I really enjoyed this piece even though it was at the expense of your poor car.

jadedj said...

fragile---not to mention my male ego...but, thank you.

becomingkate said...

First of all, I love that blue pot. I need one.
And sorry about the pothole. That's crazy!

yankeedog said...

Holy crap! That's an Illinois-size pothole you must have run through. That won't be cheap to fix.

I know we've got potholes here big enough to try to pass off as canyons. Maybe we'd make some money marketing them as tourist attractions.

jadedj said...

becoming---Le Creuset...$350 U.S. We all need one. If everyone in the U.S. bought one, I figure we could dispense with the bailout deal...and we would be happier cooks.

YD---Yep, and I have $500 deductible...that's why I'm going to do it myself.

I'm thinking public swimming pools...Summer is almost upon us.

Sunny said...

Poor car! Those "pot" holes are a terrible thing to get caught in. Michigan has a bounty of them!

Happy Easter weekend to you and your family, JJ. :)

jadedj said...

Judy---yes I remember Michigan's puddle holes. No where on the level of Nebraska though.

And the same for you dear lady! Give my regards to the bunny in the boat.

Steve said...

Clearly, Florida still had a lot of anti-German sentiment left over from WWII, probably from all the veterans that retired there. Hence the attempt to eat a BMW dealership.

Punch said...

For the record.
I know it is two weeks late, yet i find it amusing, that today, this very day, while driving back from a nice weekend, plus a few days, in the great north country of Florida, i took the back roads of Alaucha county florida, drifting under the thundering clouds of rain soaked speed traps. While driving placidly down the road i came upon five (5)white (blanca) men (hombres) filling pot holes. With what seemed to be relativly new shovles. I thought of your front bumper and was careful not to hit anything, nor to drop into any holes, black or not. As it turns out Officer Friendly was just up the road doing his paperwork as i came by, ahem, at the proper speed, eXactly 40 mph! (I had already pitched the empty beer can (properly, you creatins))

Yeah Buddy, life is good, hell it don't get no better that this!

jadedj said...

Punch---I am shocked...SHOCKED, I tell you, that there's is gambling going on in here, and that your car can actually DO 40 mph. You obviously don't own (co-own with the bank...OK, the bank owns it)...don't own a Kia Mini-van.

I know nothing, nothing about beer cans in moving vehicles...nothing.

jadedj said...

Steve---just realized that your comment whizzed right by my clouded head. Wasn't ignoring you.

Anti-Aryan sink holes?