Unless autonomous cars also levitate, I'm not interested, and nor is my vehicle's suspension.
There's a phrase in Blighty which many drivers will respond to with a rueful, knowing smirk and nod: "We used to drive on the left of the road, now we drive on what's left of the road."
The last time I ventured out of my flat to run a few errands and pop round to a friend's for a hot mug of tea, I chose to go by motorcycle. The ride went to plan, until twice in rapid succession, crater-like potholes filled with a soupy grit that could not be avoided — without hitting motorists on the other side of the road — made the bike shudder and rise above the tarmac. Within seconds, needles of pain coursed up my back. By the evening, I couldn't move off the sofa, and it took two weeks to recover with the help of my physiotherapist, who realigned and pushed the seized muscles back into place caused by the worn and cracked road surface.
This is only one of many, many tales which document the state of British roads, a land where cyclists have died after hitting potholes, taxi drivers sigh over taking their work vehicle back to the garage for axel and suspension fixes yet again — and the problem has been steadfastly ignored (in the same way as the pension black hole... wait, do we still talk about that?).