Everyone has a pothole story in these parts.
I spoke with a farmer last week who said she knew exactly when to change lanes on the Goulburn Valley Highway — all the way to the Hume and back again — to avoid the potholes.
I struggle with doing the same on the daily one-hour commute chiefly because new ones keep appearing after others are patched up.
But catching my eye each morning is one pothole, 8km south of Kialla where the Goulburn Valley Highway transitions northward from dual carriageway to single road.
I can’t be alone in my assessment: it’s long, on the left, moulded into a large black wave and most commuters have learnt to move dangerously to the right just as an oncoming lane greets us.
If that pile-up-waiting-to-happen is not dangerous enough, right at the connection of the dual carriageway, another one awaits.
One story that needs forcing is that of VFF president Emma Germano still waiting for a government response over concerns for farmer safety and productivity while we dodge the pitfalls of two very wet winters.
Ms Germano is yet to get a response.
Last week I copped a lot of light-flashing-fist-waving-tail-gating-horn-blaring rage as I sat in the right-hand lane at 40km/h like an Adelaide bridge player coming home after club.
I gently lowered my window and pointed politely at the 40 speed-limit sign imposed due to potholes, but he wouldn’t have it, tearing around me via the chewed-up left lane.
I drive a particular brand of (second-hand) car as homage to the thing’s inventor, but for all its assumed prestige, this Merc has a quirk.
The fine people in Stuttgart thought a spare tyre that only fits the two front wheels would be smart.
In a midnight tempest two winters ago, I took three hours to discover this while pinned down by the rain on the side of the Hume between Longwood and Locksley only two metres from road trains at full speed.
The RACV chap was superb but was flooded in at his home only 10 minutes away, yet to his credit, he could identify the very hole that got me.
“Was it slightly yellow on the inside?”
What a question but yes, I discreetly remember a flash of ochre before the crashing thump and pop of my right rear wheel.
“It was.”
“You’re the fourth one it’s got tonight.”
He wished me all the best and hung up.
The downpour of rain and constant need to abandon the jack and walk around to the safe side of the car at random took its toll on the clock.
I squelched back into the driver seat, soaked but relieved.
But the car would not move when I attempted to drive back into the maelstrom.
“Oh, I forgot to mention…” the RACV chap could remember potholes by their colour but not German idiosyncrasies until reminded.
He explained the spare wheel’s quirk.
“Be thankful it’s not a Skoda from back in the day — their spare wouldn’t fit anything but a rage.”
Keep in mind that I did all of this without a McLaren pit team.
Try to keep up: spare tyre taken back off right rear wheel and damaged one put back on; front left tyre removed and replaced with spare; damaged tyre removed from right rear (stay with me) and replaced with the front left tyre.
Damaged one put into the boot, then rest.
It took three hours to complete (including the 30-minute power nap halfway).
Wait, what?
I was on the phone to RACV chappy like a shot.
“How is it,” too wet for pleasantries, “that the spare won’t fit a rear wheel but only a front one, however the front wheel can fit the rear?”
I fell asleep during his response, parked where I was, until dawn.
Who’s asleep at the wheel in Melbourne?
The state of regional roads should be only a phone call away, because it’s not a mere Merc quirk waiting to be discovered, but an entire rural community and the state’s economy at risk.
Eight kilometres south of Shepparton, it could be a life.
The premier needs to take Ms Germano’s call.
Andy Wilson writes for Country News. He is a pre-peer review science editor in a range of fields and has a PhD in ecology from the University of Queensland.