The Ballad Of I-75

This weekend Kish and I drove on the worst freeway in America — the stretch of I-75 between Findlay and Toledo.  It’s been under construction for years, and seems to be no closer to completion than it was when the work started.  I think the first orange cone may have been placed shortly after Washington crossed the Delaware.

Driving it sucks so bad that it moved me to compose this bit of doggerel (with apologies to Sgt. Barry Sadler’s Ballad Of The Green Berets):

IMG_2568The Ballad Of I-75

Today I drove, and hated it

My car was fine, but the highway bit

It’s the worst freeway you can drive

That awful stretch of I-75.

It starts in Findlay, like a funnel

Cars and trucks, in a high-speed tunnel

I’m just hoping I survive

That awful stretch of I-75.

Orange cones here, orange cones there

Orange signs too — they’re everywhere

I’ll see orange ’till I arrive

After that stretch of I-75.

The work began ages ago

When it first started, I do not know

No one who does is still alive

Yet work goes on, on I-75.

In Praise Of Orange Peels

IMG_2547Kish likes to eat raw oranges.  I don’t — but I do like the orange peels that are left behind.

I read somewhere, once, that you shouldn’t throw away orange peels, but instead should put them down the garbage disposal and grind them up.  The toughness of the peels is supposed to keep the blades of the garbage disposal nice and sharp, and the grinding produces a very agreeable orange aroma.

I can’t speak for the blade-sharpening, but I can vouch for the fragrance.  It’s quite pleasant to have a kitchen that, however briefly, smells like an orange orchard.