The paint on the freeway was bad enough.
Seems there was a wreck on the northbound side of IH 35 yesterday morning, involving an eighteen-wheeler and one of those machines that paints the lines on the road. It happened around 5:30 AM, and the mess lasted all day. The two entrance ramps between my house and work were both closed, bringing traffic on the access road down to a snail's pace. Of course, the major alternate route would be up Mays Street, but the city is working on the intersection at Mays and 79, so traffic is down to one lane through there.
Usually, I take the access road to work, thinking it's not worth getting on the freeway just to go one exit north, and I come home down Mays. Yesterday, just for grins and giggles, I decided to take Chisholm Trail, as both Mays and the access road were still backed up.
Right. Bad idea.
Of course, I didn't realize that until I was sitting in a long string of cars on the Trail, watching the train crawl past. One of those long gravel trains, there it was, inching its way south across 620 at about 2 mph. I shudder to think what 620 looked like, as it's only about a block from the highway to the train tracks. It took me half an hour to get home.
I headed out early to pick Brendan up from the airport, and stopped in to see Chandra on the way. I left her house an hour and ten minutes before Brendan's plane was due, and got to the airport turn off in half an hour. In their infinite wisdom, the Powers That Be had decided to resurface the turn to the airport. There were dozens of men and machines, including one that is almost as big as my house, impenetrable clouds of dust, and the only open lane put traffic in the opposite direction from the one I needed. There were no detour signs. It took me about fifteen minutes to navigate through and around to see if there was a route I had missed. Forgive me for being from the sticks, but I didn't know another way to get there.
The second time through the mess, I stopped (and to hell with the traffic behind me) and asked one of the men working just where I was supposed to go. "Oh," he said, "Just go west on Ben White, and take Riverside. It loops around, and pick up 71 East." Of course, I wound up headed back toward downtown. By the time I actually saw one of those little airplane-with-an-arrow signs and was headed in the right direction, Brendan was already on the ground. By then I was only five minutes away, so the nightmare was over.
Of course, the first thing out of his mouth was, "Can we stop and get something to eat? I haven't eaten since breakfast," at after 11 PM. Kerbey Lane Cafe called our name.
I hope the roads are clear today.