That's because the Ball Street crossing at the rail line where the Tarantula train runs has repeatedly brutalized my car. Hit it the wrong way and your vehicle's suspension will never be the same. One time I drove over the rails, and, I swear, my car started to cry. So I admit to a little gallows indulgence, intentionally driving through the work zone Wednesday to see a tractor tear up the pavement. I told my car.
Public executions make everyone feel better.
On Friday, I drove over the crossing, and, sure enough, it was as smooth as a baby's bottom. The Giving Tree, the transportation reporter was happy.