I get so many letters about bad drivers I thought I’d do another column on the subject; even though it hasn’t been quite six weeks since I wrote about the fella I saw driving down State Road 674 juggling a cell phone and a sandwich.
I think when we talk about “bad” drivers, we need to use a little perspective. Oh – I agree with you, there are plenty of them around, and from time-to-time, I get a kick out of describing their antics in this column.
But this week, I want to try and view the situation from a different perspective.
First, we need to remember it’s hard to be a good driver when you’re in the middle of a pack of cars going bumper-to-bumper on potholed, two-lane roads that should have been four-laned before all the new growth hit.
And second, other places have drivers that are much worse, so I thought it would be fun to write about some of the places I’ve driven and invite you to write in with your experiences in other places, as well.
Being an Army dependent in Europe in the 1960s, you’d think I’d say the worst place I’d driven was the German autobahn, but no, actually that was fun. Since there’s no speed limit there, people drive fast but they seem to be concentrating on what they’re doing. Of course, this was in 1965 and I was driving a 1961 Plymouth Valiant then; the kind that had what was called a “California rake” where the front end nearly scraped their road and the tail stuck straight up in the air. I also remember that it had a large spare tire space built so it was visible from the outside, right on top of the trunk area.
My experience on the autobahn in the Valiant I’d bought for $100 from a guy transferring back to the States was that of watching other cars zip by me while I tried to figure out what the signs meant, even though I (like all military dependents overseas) had taken the international driver’s test.
Based on my actions, there are probably still some Germans talking about what terrible drivers Americans are, and I consider myself a safe, defensive driver with a rather impressive record. 
I wasn’t scared by the autobahn, although at times, I was confused.
In the Memphis, Tenn., area however, I was terrified. And I’d grown up on the New Jersey coast, where Atlantic City, Philadelphia and New York were only a little ways away. In fact, I can remember popping two wheels of a VW Beetle over the cobblestone curb in Washington Square and leaving it, unlocked, and bailing out without any worry of crime.
But living in West Memphis, Ark., and driving to work over the bridge to Memphis, on the Tennessee side, was a horror. Much worse than Atlanta before the infamous bypass – the one you can circle the city on several times before finding your exit – was built.
In the mid-’70s, I’d have called the Memphis-West Memphis bridge the scariest place in America.
South Shore residents think drivers here are bad now; back when big Buicks and Cadillacs had foot-long tail fins, I’d cross that Memphis bridge in the morning wondering if I’d ever get to see my family again.
We didn’t use cell phones or eat in the car as we rushed from place to place. But speedometers went to 120 mph, and people used every 8-cylinder, black-smoking, tailgating mile of them, sometimes coming so close to you that they’d have collided if you’d had one extra coat of paint.
Reminiscing is good because although some things were better “back then,” many things were not.
South Shore’s traffic problems are not unique. It’s just that those of us who have lived here awhile have been spoiled by the fact that until recently, we haven’t had to deal with what much of the world takes for granted every day.
u Readers are encouraged to send their comments and concerns to me at 3036 College Ave., Ruskin, FL 33570 or e-mail them to .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) with Road Raves in the subject line.

Penny Fletcher is the editor of The Tampa Tribune affiliates The Sun and the South Shore News