America starts here?

My husband and I went to Philadelphia to spend Labor Day weekend with our son. There’s nothing like a trip to Pennsylvania to help you appreciate good ol’ New York state.

First of all, a disclaimer: I’m not from here. I moved here when I was 12. May 26 was my 30th anniversary in the state, and some say that makes me a New Yorker. All I can say is, of all the places I’ve ever lived, from Minnesota to Oregon, Central New York is the best. Now it looks like I might be spoiled.

But back to Pennsylvania.

For a state that boasts of college after college on highway billboards every 11 feet or so, you’d think PA had a pretty educated population. I’m here to tell you what they could really use is a driving school.

Honestly, PA puts stop signs where no half-wit New Yorker ever would dream of. The best part is, apparently only New Yorkers are stupid enough to stop for them. This is a good way to customize your rear-end. Well, your car’s rear-end, anyway.

Compounding this phenomenon was the fact that I am a New York driver operating undercover in a PA car. That must REALLY have confused the locals. Maybe they thought I was having a seizure or something, stopping as I was for all those (optional?) stop signs.

The only thing that topped the ill-placed stop signs were the endless stretches of roadway under some stage of rehabilitation. These same stretches were undergoing “improvement” when I drove through PA in 1977, 1978, 1983, 1986, well, you get the idea.

New to me the past 12 to 18 months are the “Emergency Pull-Off 1,000 Feet” signs. Are you kidding? If you can go two-tenths of a mile, it’s not an emergency. That’s a duct-tape-and-clothespin repair, OK? And those pull-offs are always on an uphill approach. Good luck coasting into one of those puppies without A) defying the laws of gravity; and B) getting rear-ended by the drivers traveling 84 mph in that 55- to 65-mph zone.

Also, since you are going to be parked in a notch in the side of a mountain, good luck getting a cell phone signal with which to call for help. Every time I saw one of those signs, I prayed that God would get me over the next summit so the car could blow up on the downgrade on the other side … and I’m an atheist.

And speaking of summits, these same geniuses slapped a small city in a valley and called it “Clarks Summit.” I don’t know; maybe someone had a sense of humor. There was a small hill at one end of the town where gasoline was like a dime more than everywhere else in town. We figured it was a premium charged for enjoying the view … of the other gas stations in the same valley.

Once in awhile we encountered a really novel sign: “Caution: Lanes Narrow.” I didn’t see how this was possible, as cars already were clipping each others’ side mirrors as they passed. I thought I might have to pull over and walk through the narrow spots, but there weren’t convenient “Emergency Pull-Off 1,000 Feet” spots handy, and did I mention the penchant for speeding?

Comedian Rich Little visited Syracuse in the early 1980s. He was quoted as saying, “Syracuse is a nice little town… if they would only finish it.”

I would argue he never crossed New York’s southern border.

Back on the road, every five or 10 miles, there would be a sign that read, “End Road Work.” We would get all excited, thinking it was going to be smooth sailing from that point on. After awhile, I figured out that instead of indicating the end of construction, it was probably the revolutionary cry of frustrated and beaten-down motorists.

You know, like “End Apartheid.”

Reprinted courtesy Eagle Newspapers, Syracuse, New York.