If you’ve ever driven through Charlotte County, you know the potholes aren’t a road problem—they’re a tourist attraction. Forget landmarks. Around here, directions are given like this:
“Turn left at the crater that swallowed a Corolla in ’19, then slow down before Old Faithful—you’ll know it by the steam.”
The potholes are everywhere. Big ones. Small ones. Deep ones that make you question your suspension, your life choices, and whether gravity has recently been turned up. Some are so wide they need their own postal codes. Others are sneaky, hiding under puddles like alligators waiting for a Buick.
Locals don’t swerve anymore—we navigate. It’s a skill passed down through generations. Teen drivers don’t take road tests; they do obstacle courses. Parallel parking? Please. Try parallel parking while avoiding three potholes, a raccoon, and a guy waving because his tire just gave up.
At this point, the potholes have personalities. There’s “Old Reliable,” always waiting at the same intersection, no matter how many times it’s patched. There’s “The Ambush,” which appears overnight after a rainstorm like, Surprise! You needed new shocks anyway. And then there’s “The Legend,” a pothole so deep rumor has it you can hear echoes from last winter.
Road crews try their best. They fill a pothole, turn around to get another done, and—boom—two more appear. Scientists say potholes multiply when exposed to asphalt and hope. Entire geology textbooks could be rewritten based on Charlotte County roads alone.
Some drivers swear their cars have adapted. Engines brace themselves. Cupholders tighten up. The GPS no longer says “In 500 feet, turn right.” It says, “Hold on.”
And yet, we keep driving. Because in Charlotte County, potholes don’t slow us down—they give us something to talk about. They build character. They build core strength. They build friendships when strangers pull over together, shaking their heads and saying, “Yep. Got another one.”
Welcome to Charlotte County—where the roads are rough, the repairs are temporary, and the potholes… well, they’re forever.
If you see a big pothole, let me know so I can warn others.
downey.mark@radioabl.ca
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