“I got the key to the highway, and I'm billed out and bound to go I'm gonna leave here runnin', cause walkin' is much too slow” ~ Eric Clapton

I was cruising down the road Saturday morning maintaining a respectable speed, and listening to music on my iPod that would make my son, who was arriving any moment for spring break proud. My little Jetta diesel was humming along when it hit a pothole and started to shake. In that split second, I remembered not to slam on the brakes and lose control. Slowly, I drifted over to the side of the road to inspect the damage. The right front tire was obliterated.

Next, I did the least gender-bending thing I could think of and called my husband. So much for all those women's studies classes in the ‘70’s…sexism reigns when there's a flat tire. He was about 20 minutes away at the hardware store – his Saturday morning home away from home.

After about a half an hour, a very pleasant police officer pulled over and surveyed the damages. I explained that my guy was tool ogling and would be by shortly. The nice cop and I discussed how to deal with the broken highway. He said he’s seen a sharp rise in pothole vs. car incidents these last few weeks. He had no idea when the highway department would get around to making the repairs on all the potholes. After a short discussion about our mutual love of rockin' to Clapton while driving, he bid me farewell and said he would check back in about an hour - just in case my knight in shining armor forgot about me. Ha, cute cop.

As it turned out, I did have a bit more time to think about the pothole situation.

If the highway department fails to deal with the craters before they eat up tires and rims, we might need to find a swifter, slightly more subversive alternative. I had written a post over on Planet Green that might be the key to the highway…Go Bomb Something With Yarn - Knitting Over The Edge.

Credit: Flickr - Pothold Project via CMYBacon