There is a certain composition of asphalt that lets a sheet of water sit atop it; this makes driving at night in the rain very hairy for me, as the lane markers disappear in the reflections of light off the pavement.
It can be worse in the day time. There's a stretch of this asphalt just south of Florence, Kentucky, and I hit it Sunday afternoon, driving out the backside of a squall line and into an area of thin overcast with the sun trying to break through.
The sky was a brilliant, even sheet of white. Vehicles were throwing massive clouds of spray from the standing water, and the freeway was full of heavy traffic, still moving at a brisk 65-70. And best of all, the sheet of water on the pavement was reflecting back the bright, even white of the sky like a mirror.
Of course hardly anybody other than me had their lights on. And every now and then some driver, invariably in a white Marquis or silver Accord, would panic and lift off the gas and your first warning would be when the churning cloud of mist ahead of you began to darken imperceptibly some three car lengths in front of your bumper.
It was pretty white-knuckle, and the BMW, with its 3-series sedan genes, isn't even all that terribly low-slung. I can only imagine what it would have been like in something where you really sit with your butt on the pavement, like a Miata or Corvette.
(Note To Self: New wiper blades before the drive home probably wouldn't hurt, either)