Ah breakup in Alaska – streets with puddles deep enough to qualify as Olympic diving venues, cars sending up waves you could surf, potholes that could swallow Cincinnati, and sidewalks covered with water that covers a sheet of ice that sends you sliding a good 500 feet before landing on your petootie. Yep, breakup, that time of year when all real Alaskans already have a plane ticket to somewhere, anywhere, else.
Let me just say that for any faults life in Barrow might have, at least the far north knows how to do breakup. It happens only once a year.