I had to drive to Bangor recently and encountered construction along the way, on Interstate 95. Two lanes narrowed to one, which was lined with traffic cones.

The speed limit was obviously reduced. At one point, I was driving along an immense dug-up area, dotted with heavy machinery and people in hard hats. It clearly was a big deal.

So why was the person behind me tailgating me?

When my husband, Paul, and I moved to Maine almost 30 years ago, we noticed that drivers here were a kinder, gentler sort. There were the obvious out-of-towners who lived in communities that had nary a stop light. They would drive down Western Avenue as if shell-shocked. Still, that was nothing to compare to the cutthroat antics we were used to back in Massachusetts.

Times have changed. Mainers are now just as bad as everyone else.

Tailgating, in particular, has become an epidemic. Paul complains about it every day. This is because he drives more than I do. When I am behind the wheel, I gripe too.

It is impossible to stay in the passing lane on the interstate for more than two seconds before someone inches up behind you. The elevation of the speed limit to 70 has done nothing to alleviate this problem. Now, if you’re going 70 in the passing lane, the guy behind you wants to go 75.

Or gal. Women may be even worse then men when it comes to tailgating. After passing through that tortuous trail through the construction area, I looked over at the car that had been hard on my heels. The driver was a small, nondescript, middle-aged woman wearing a beret.

She was driving a minivan.

I suppose I wasn’t exactly expecting horns and cloven hooves, but I would expect some sign of an antisocial attitude. A purple mohawk, say. Vulgar bumper stickers. A tattooed face.

Tailgating has become such an ingrained part of the culture that people who drive minivans do it.

I am irate about this trend primarily because it’s dangerous. I don’t remember exactly what I was taught in driver’s education about leaving enough space in front of me (it’s been awhile) but something like “two car lengths” has stuck.

Sheldon Cooper, resident genius in “The Big Bang Theory,” argues with the Department of Motor Vehicles — correctly! — that this is an inapplicable measure, as “a car is not a standardized unit of measure.” It doesn’t account for speed or weather conditions, etc. As a person who nearly failed high school physics, I am proud to say even I can understand his point. Two car lengths may not be enough space in a blizzard. Common sense tells us in such a situation we want three Suburbans between ourselves and our neighbors.

Am I the only one who sees this? Besides my husband, I mean.

One day in August, I left an event in Auburn in the pouring rain. Torrential rain. Instant pond-size, puddle-forming rain. I am leery of Route 202 in the best of circumstances, so it was white-knuckle time all the way. I was probably going 30, sometimes 25. My goal was to get home. It was going to take me twice as long as usual, but I was aiming to walk in my front door.

Others did not feel the same. One person passed me in the midst of a ferocious cloud burst. At one point, I could see I was leading a snakelike parade of cars, perhaps 20 of them. The one right behind me, needless to say, was right on my tail.

I can’t emphasize enough how treacherous the conditions were. I had to call Paul and tell him I was going to be late. I was barely able to see the entrance to a gas station, so I could stop. When it was time to get back on the road, I was terrified. People were speeding. One car didn’t even have its lights on. Nobody could see anybody else, so no one was going to wave me out.

I did make it home safely. It was not raining in Augusta at all. Paul looked incredulous when I told him my story.

Safety, though it is the most important concern, is not my only one. I wonder why people are in such a hurry. I wonder why they don’t seem to have any common sense. I wonder if they have lost all sense of civility.

Tailgating is dangerous. It’s rude. It’s nasty. What’s so hard about respecting your neighbors, and sharing the road?

Liz Soares welcomes e-mail at lsoares@gwi.net.

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