Jan C Johnson, Author

Normally I would take a day off on Sunday and not post anything. However, when you have goofed it is just as well to set the record straight ASAP. This is about yesterday’s post, “The Evil Chip-Sealers.” In my head I was exaggerating for comic effect. Yes, I really dislike chipseal and no, I don’t get why our roads people keep using it. But I wanted you to laugh at me for getting all bent out of shape over something as inconsequential as pavement. That’s what I was thinking as I clicked “Publish.”

Then I looked at the post an hour or two later, and it did not sound the way I intended. Instead, I think I came across as bitter and cynical, not to mention a conspiracy theorist. My first inclination was to just delete the post. Then I realized that what I really need to do is tell you why bitterness and cynicism have no valid place in my life.

My worldview tells me that a sovereign God created this world and everything in it. “Sovereign” means “in control.” And even though unpleasant things happen, most of them more serious than pointy gravel on country roads, I still believe God is ultimately in control. It is important to note, though, that He does not cause evil. From the beginning, evil — real evil, not the chipseal kind — has been the product of those who rebel against Him: first Satan and, since his fall, all of us. In His mercy, God limits the effects of evil (in essence protecting us from ourselves). Not only that, but through Jesus He offers forgiveness to anyone who will trust Him. And in the end, He will make everything come out right in a state of perfect justice. As Abraham said in Genesis 18:25, “Will not the Judge of all the earth do right?”

Yes. Yes, He will. And so my really, truly, foundational attitude is one of peace. Despite the struggles and heartache we all face, I know that all will be well. And that is why any bitterness or cynicism that creeps into my attitude (or my writing) is out of place.

Side note: As part of the justice that I seek, I should approach my government leaders with my questions instead of making wisecracks about them on the Internet. In light of that, in the future I will think more carefully about how my comments may be perceived — ideally, before I click the “Publish” button.

Thanks for reading!
Jan

It’s Saturday, and I’m supposed to be cleaning floors and bathrooms, but I would much rather sit at the computer and complain about The Evil Chip-Sealers.

In case you are fortunate enough to live in an area where chip-seal is unheard of, let me explain what it is. “Chip-seal” is a road surface made by spreading on a layer of tar followed by a layer of gravel. Everyone hates it. Traffic is supposed to squish the loose gravel down into the tar, a process which takes three or four months of hot weather. Bicycles might as well stay completely off it until it is duly squished. If a road is chip-sealed in winter, most of the gravel just keeps getting kicked up so it dings the paint on people’s cars, or thrown off into the weeds alongside the pavement.

Depending on the size and shape of the gravel, chip-seal can end up making a road anything from a temporary nuisance (small, flattish bits of gravel) to permanently unsuitable for bicycles (larger, pointy gravel which never, ever, ever gets squished enough to form even a moderately smooth surface).

When we moved to our current home, the Farm-to-Market road near our neighborhood was pretty beat-up, full of Epic Potholes of Ellis County. A few years ago this road got resurfaced: a beautiful, glass-smooth, clean, black asphalt road that was a joy to drive over. I repeat, it was one beautiful road. One year later, I noticed telltale piles of gravel had been dumped here and there on the right-of-way. I believe my exact words at that point were “NOOOOOOOoooooo!!” But there was nothing anyone could do. The asphalt road was in almost mint condition, but the Evil Chip-Sealers were going to resurface it anyway.

Soon it was all over (such a shoddy technique at least doesn’t take very long). Instead of gliding quietly over the road, car tires now made a loud rumbling sound as pointy gravel chewed off bits of rubber. You could feel your fuel efficiency (or pedaling efficiency, if cycling) plummet. Within a couple of weeks, traffic had skidded all the gravel in the 90-degree turns (typical of Farm Roads) right off the pavement and, I suppose, into the grass. This left bare patches of hardened tar which become treacherously slick when wet. For bicycles, hardened tar is treacherously slick even when it is dry. And, of course, it is most likely to be left ungraveled in corners, which is precisely where a slick surface is most dangerous. The annoying thing is that someone came along and RE-re-surfaced the corners with decent asphalt pavement, which must have cost additional bucks on top of the complete waste of Chip-Sealing money.

You may ask, if this surface is so obnoxious, why are the Evil Chip-Sealers even allowed to operate in our area? The only explanation my family can think of is that the Evil Chip-Seal Corporation must be owned by the brother-in-law of someone in our city or county government. We have yet to unravel this.

Thanks for reading!
Tailwinds (you’ll need them if you ride on Chip-seal),
Jan

They creep up on you, often hiding in the camouflage of shade as you pedal along. Or they might lurk just over the crest of a little rise, where you don’t see them until they rattle your teeth. Some are no big deal, just a little shallow patch like a kitchen floor missing a tile. Others, dark chasms disguised as harmless streaks of tar, run parallel to the road and will pull an unwary front tire right out from under you.

Like skunks and spiders, these Epic Potholes of Ellis County multiply in the cold rains of early spring. By summer they have become craters. (The potholes have, not the skunks.) We locals just ride around them. Cyclists from more civilized environs, accustomed to riding in a straight line instead of weaving around like rodeo barrel racers, tend to grumble.

Eventually the holes get deep enough that the highway people decide to “repair” them. In Ellis County, “repairs” amount to a couple of guys driving an asphalt truck around and dropping shovelsful of the lumpy black goop into each hole. For the first week after these “repairs,” the former holes function more as speed bumps. Locals still ride around them; the city guys still grumble.

Then, about the time the asphalt gets flattened enough so that cyclists can ride in a straight line instead of weaving around like rodeo barrel racers, we get the Late Summer Rains. The new asphalt miraculously dissolves, leaving the road even bumpier, if possible, than before. The locals tighten their cables and trace new “safe routes” along the roads, sort of like people living in a minefield, or that guy in “Hound of the Baskervilles” whose property was surrounded by quicksand. The city guys step up the grumbling or go back to ride in more civilized environs.

I’m thinking of taking up barrel racing.

Next: The Evil Chip-Sealers