The state of Massachusetts roads (poor)

Well, as the flat-as-a-board tire on my minivan can attest to, the state of Massachusetts did it to me again.

I've had only one accident and a few fender-benders in my adult driving life (I don't think that the first few months after you get your driver's license should count) and they have all been in the state of Massachusetts. Add to those accidents and fender-benders a series of flat tires (almost always during the holidays; "Merry Christmas and pass that tire iron") and the sum total of my road woes have come within the confines of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, a place where I do not live and only occasionally visit.

I have driven in such diverse places as China, Egypt and Israel and Ireland, yet I never feared for my life the way I do when that "Welcome To Massachusetts" sign appears on the horizon.

It's telling that this welcome sign does not have a tagline like other state signs do, such as Maine's "A Nice Place To Live", Vermont's "A Community Place" or New Jersey's "Prepare To Hold Your Breath."

The Massachusetts welcome sign should read, "Welcome To Massachusetts, We're Really Sorry For What's About To Happen To You."

You can feel the anger surge as you cross the border.

It's almost as if the drivers around me on the highway are werewolves and the state line is a full moon.

All of a sudden people are honking angrily, passing on the right at 95 miles an hour and simultaneously texting, drinking coffee and doing their makeup at the wheel.

Until this past visit I had never experienced the driving technique of passing multiple cars on the right on a two-lane road by driving on grass and sidewalks for 200 yards.

And the pot holes, oh my, the pot holes. (What's up with the term "pot hole"? There are no pots or pans out there, it's just a hole. And it's big enough to fit a family of bears in it for the winter.)

Now, all states have bad roads and bad drivers (except maybe Connecticut where folks are courteous and are so rich that the tollbooth attendant hands you money when you drive through), but it just feels like Massachusetts has made surviving a trip to the grocery store an art form.

Perhaps it's all a conspiracy pulled off by the state's auto body industry.

These folks must make a killing.

When I had my one bad accident back in 2002, I took my beloved, totaled Saab to a shop in Andover, Mass., and the grizzled technician took one look at the heap of metal that once had been the rear end of my car and, like a calm surgeon on the battlefield, said, "I've seen worse; I can have it back to you next week."

The state's auto body industry should advertise out of state. ("Is your car totaled? Send it to Massachusetts for repair; we've seen it all!")

Here is my solution.

If they can make a "Big Dig" that can let you traverse the city of Boston underground, then I propose and even "Bigger Dig" that lets you cross the state completely underground, with stops only at Fenway Park and the Basketball Hall of Fame in Springfield.

And to my family, friends and other assorted loved ones that call Massachusetts home, may all your road trips be incident-free, and please, please come see us next time.