Commute Count: Friday

One dead squirrel. Shoulda zigged instead of zagged. Barry Sanders had his problems with that too. He’d get nailed behind the line three or four times in a row, then boom, he’d break one into the open and make defenders look silly grabbing at air.

Also one dead possum. 1 cool kingfisher. Alive. 2 Canada geese. One was in a depression, physically, and all you could see was this long, windy black and white neck sticking up. It looked like a snake. I hate snakes. Kinda feeling sorry for crows and seagulls. I see them every day but they never get mentioned here.

No cops. No wrecks. One broken-down semi truck. 2 hubcaps. Remembering this stuff seems to be helping my premature dementia. Tons of truck tire rubber. I have a theory that when conditions are just right, like the temperature, dewpoint, atmospheric pressure, humidity and Neptune being in Capricorn, the glue just melts on truck tire rubber and it falls all over the highway. It must be really expensive to buy those huge tires, so I’m thinking truck owners just get them recapped with fresh tread.

Was driving home after working sports years and years ago, about 1 or 2 in the morning. Pitch black. Had the highway to myself. Just spacing along in the beater Toyota pickup, listing to Art Bell and, BAM, slammed into a complete recap in the middle of the road. Woke me up. A cargo truck was sitting on the shoulder, so I got the company name and called them the next morning. They owned up to it and paid for the parts to fix my smashed-up front end. Made me pay for the labor, though.