Based on my experience running my neighborhood road association, I advise you to go hug a DOT worker.

LAST YEAR, I moved to a spot that’s a little bit rural.

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Not rural like your closest neighbor is Hermit Tom who lives over the other side of the holler and the nearest town is just a Dollar General, but rural as in it’s a half-mile down an unpaved road to get the mail. The neighborhood comprises about 20 farms and has a few miles of dirt roads, and I didn't give those roads much thought when we looked at the house. That changed shortly after I moved in, when the neighbor in charge of the roads, Ray, sent out an email saying, “I woke up this morning and realized I've been president of the road association for 20 years, and my term is up.” The next thing I knew, I had the job, with a conspicuous absence of competition. I figured I'd impress my new neighbors with my civic duty while downplaying my own self-interest in the matter. If you want to think of me as a great humanitarian, I won't argue, but just remember that sometimes even the most selfless among us need to get a McLaren Artura to their house.