Hot Day, Hotter Tar

...with sweaty men caught in between.

Meet Mark, driver of the roller machine that smooths the newly

 laid asphalt being installed at the intersection of Crawfordsville Road

and Interstate-74. It was about 9 in the morning and temperatures

were already high, reaching 100 degrees in the shade by

afternoon. He wasn't being lazy, but awaiting his turn in the process

 of making certain the pavement would be smooth and

would adhere to the roadbed bases installed earlier. 

The above shot is of the tarry adhesive that helps the asphalt

stay in place. When freshly laid, the heated asphalt is over

200 degrees. I was told that if I walked on it, it could melt the

soles of my sneakers. I chose to not challenge the

statement. The roller would be slowly driven over the

newly laid material, further compacting it and driving it

into the roadbed. 

The stretch of road above is ready to be paved by

the equipment below. Consisting of two separate sections,

the newly-made asphalt is put into the rear section, then picked

up by a conveyor belt to be pulled into the front machine.

The asphalt is then laid at a pre-determined depth on the 

roadbed, allowed to cool a bit, when it's then rolled

into the adhesive and foundation by Mark

and his machine.

Planning Dreams

One clear evening, I went to the west end of my neighborhood, 

to a place where I could stand alongside the highway 

to get a good view of the sunset. The exchanges to enter and exit

Interstate 74 from I-465 have been torn up for the past year to create wider lanes and more sweeping, easier to navigate turns. 

Some of it has been completed and drivers have been happy 

to make use of the new pavement.

Since I was a girl, I've been fascinated by the contrails left behind

by jets as they fly over the place I stand, rooted to the ground.

I especially like to see the skies in the morning and evenings, when the

contrails of many planes seem to intersect, weaving descriptions

of their journeys, just as the cars and trucks speeding past me on 

the highway were creating theirs. Early in our long relationship, 

Carl caught me watching the planes and pointed some of them out to me,

partly in jest, telling me where it was headed and its altitude. 
I understood then that, just like the trucks on the road, 
each plane had its specified lane, its place in the sky. 

He brought me outdated Jeppessen aeronautical charts, 

which I still have, describing the routes. 

I loved them then and still do. The picture below, showing 

the Indianapolis area, was scanned from an old Jeppessen 

United States Low Altitude En Route chart.