Hotline to the Mechanic
There is something common to both Spanish and American roads and streets. Potholes. Back in Boston they're caused by the continuous freezing and thawing of water on the blacktop and the weight of passing traffic. After winter they blossom like daffodils. Here they're caused by the continuous rain. This month it is now being helped by frosty nights. And they become perpetual.
There are potholes and then there are potholes. There are the cracks in the blacktop that make your car wobble as you cruise over them. Those are little embryos, simple bumps in the road that are almost unnoticeable. Then there are regular holes that are simple, that you notice with a slight bump. Unless you find them on the highway. Simple holes there become a driver's nightmare. There you are, cruising with the rest of the cars, keeping to the right-hand lane. Of course, you're not keeping to the speed limit because you have a good car and the day is fine and dandy. All of a sudden you hear "kacha-kabapa-kacha" and feel you've just driven over five speed bumps twenty centimeters high and that the car is about to fall apart from the impact. If you're not wearing your seat belt your head hits the ceiling. You wince at the effect the shock absorbers must have received. You slow down and make sure the car responds correctly, and that all the teeth in your head are in their place. You check the rearview mirror and notice a pothole behind you. You curse, sending the company in charge of maintenance to the lowest circles of hell. And then you move into the left-hand lane, like the rest of the drivers, to avoid the infernal potholes.
Then there are the potholes that could swallow entire trucks. Those generally occur in back lanes that lead to villages where mostly only the residents go. Those lanes are in charge of the municipal governments and there's never enough money to renew the blacktop regularly. Until the local elections. A month before the elections fresh asphalt will appear like a miracle, creating a patchwork of black and light gray along the lanes. These craters can be deceptive. If you see them on a dry day you simply slow down and drive around them, climbing up onto the grassy shoulder of the lane. If they're on a curve, you pray another car won't be coming from the other direction. If you see them on a rainy day where puddles have been left lying around, be careful. It won't be the first time a driver thinks it's another puddle, and find he has just torn off a tire and irreparably twisted the steering.
And if you ever go driving into the hills on a day of discovery, be careful. My husband and I work on the principle that if there's an asphalt or dirt track, that it is meant that all kinds of motorized vehicles can continue onward. If all the cars we have had could talk, they would say we have mistaken them for 4X4's. We have driven down dirt lanes loosely covered with gravel, only to arrive at a point where the rainwater had left gullies across the lane, making it practically uncrossable. We have crossed them. Generally those lanes are meant for tractors and 4X4's, not our little cars. So, the lanes may be laid out, and then left with no maintenance for five years or more. Nature tends to take over in that case. When we find going forward impossible, even at two kilometers an hour and in first gear, we find a place where we can make a three-point turn without falling off a precipice, and turn back. We haven't given up very often.
You can find potholes in city streets, as well, but since traffic won't usually let you advance at a good clip, they're really not very noticeable. Still, you might be following the car in front of you, see it dip momentarily, and then dip yourself as you pass over the same spot. As soon as you see the cars before you dip, you know what will lie under your tires. Of course, to fix those potholes, the city government will choose rush hour on a Monday morning. You will find yourself detoured five streets over and two streets down and cursing potholes, city government and all the hapless drivers around you.
If you ever drive here, be prepared to have your bones jarred, your swear words updated, and be careful with those deceptive puddles.
There are potholes and then there are potholes. There are the cracks in the blacktop that make your car wobble as you cruise over them. Those are little embryos, simple bumps in the road that are almost unnoticeable. Then there are regular holes that are simple, that you notice with a slight bump. Unless you find them on the highway. Simple holes there become a driver's nightmare. There you are, cruising with the rest of the cars, keeping to the right-hand lane. Of course, you're not keeping to the speed limit because you have a good car and the day is fine and dandy. All of a sudden you hear "kacha-kabapa-kacha" and feel you've just driven over five speed bumps twenty centimeters high and that the car is about to fall apart from the impact. If you're not wearing your seat belt your head hits the ceiling. You wince at the effect the shock absorbers must have received. You slow down and make sure the car responds correctly, and that all the teeth in your head are in their place. You check the rearview mirror and notice a pothole behind you. You curse, sending the company in charge of maintenance to the lowest circles of hell. And then you move into the left-hand lane, like the rest of the drivers, to avoid the infernal potholes.
Then there are the potholes that could swallow entire trucks. Those generally occur in back lanes that lead to villages where mostly only the residents go. Those lanes are in charge of the municipal governments and there's never enough money to renew the blacktop regularly. Until the local elections. A month before the elections fresh asphalt will appear like a miracle, creating a patchwork of black and light gray along the lanes. These craters can be deceptive. If you see them on a dry day you simply slow down and drive around them, climbing up onto the grassy shoulder of the lane. If they're on a curve, you pray another car won't be coming from the other direction. If you see them on a rainy day where puddles have been left lying around, be careful. It won't be the first time a driver thinks it's another puddle, and find he has just torn off a tire and irreparably twisted the steering.
And if you ever go driving into the hills on a day of discovery, be careful. My husband and I work on the principle that if there's an asphalt or dirt track, that it is meant that all kinds of motorized vehicles can continue onward. If all the cars we have had could talk, they would say we have mistaken them for 4X4's. We have driven down dirt lanes loosely covered with gravel, only to arrive at a point where the rainwater had left gullies across the lane, making it practically uncrossable. We have crossed them. Generally those lanes are meant for tractors and 4X4's, not our little cars. So, the lanes may be laid out, and then left with no maintenance for five years or more. Nature tends to take over in that case. When we find going forward impossible, even at two kilometers an hour and in first gear, we find a place where we can make a three-point turn without falling off a precipice, and turn back. We haven't given up very often.
You can find potholes in city streets, as well, but since traffic won't usually let you advance at a good clip, they're really not very noticeable. Still, you might be following the car in front of you, see it dip momentarily, and then dip yourself as you pass over the same spot. As soon as you see the cars before you dip, you know what will lie under your tires. Of course, to fix those potholes, the city government will choose rush hour on a Monday morning. You will find yourself detoured five streets over and two streets down and cursing potholes, city government and all the hapless drivers around you.
If you ever drive here, be prepared to have your bones jarred, your swear words updated, and be careful with those deceptive puddles.
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