If I had a nickel for every time I took a wrong turn, missed an exit, or just ended up in the wrong place in Buffalo, I wouldn’t have any money concerns. Then again, finding yourself in Buffalo to begin with defines ‘ending up in the wrong place.’ Not only does the seemingly inescapable maze of intersecting highways, interstates, and toll roads suck away your fuel and your patience, but it also plunges you into an abyss of invisible stoplights and pothole-scarred roads that resemble the surface of the moon. When you pull up to a stop line at an intersection, the stoplights are positioned directly above your car, so in order to know what color it is you have to either press your face to your windshield and stare skyward or just wait for the honk from the car behind you. The potholes – road craters, rather – are so numerous that you find yourself swerving away from the smooth bits of asphalt because that’s the irregularity. Rodeo’s taking a beating. I count on getting lost a few more times here, but soon enough the two of us will be free of Buffalo’s Black Hole Road Network. Where, by Poseidon’s triton, am I?!
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