Nobody likes to think about infrastructure until there’s a big crack in it. And now my thoughts are turning daily to the crumbling and closed “dry bridge,” my gateway to the Route 12A shopping district, where I worked for 30 years amid the swirling dust and creeping traffic.

This is where we buy things we need, or merely want, sometimes distracted by the sour smell from the city dump, or the hot, thick grease of the burger makers.

It is not like the green hills of Vermont, or the sturdy mountains of New Hampshire, both postcard pretty. It is, at best, utilitarian. Robert Frost would not write about its random byways and cut-throughs. If he took the lane less traveled by, a big pickup with angry bumper stickers might cut him off.

Like it or not, we have arranged life so that we have to go to 12A. People upset at our nation’s current state of affairs urge us to boycott the chains, to buy nothing online; that leaves the co-ops, Dan & Whit’s, and local artisanal cookies, which I fully endorse. But you cannot live by artisanal cookies alone, even if loaded with chocolate chunks.

The emergency shutdown of the dry bridge wasn’t exactly a surprise, since it was held up by putty, goop and hope. A Valley News story said bridge components were rated poor, substandard and “intolerable,” not a word I care to see associated with something holding me up in the air.

Since I have driven over that bridge something like half a million times, this closure threatens my regular routines, which in retirement have become only more dear to me. The trip was so quick we could justify driving down to pick up a few things, although in truth I’d rather zip over to White River Junction for emergency eggs or a last-minute tomato.

Although not a professional bridge inspector, I walked down to the bridge last Sunday to see what’s what. A close-up look reveals it is crummy indeed. You could hold a Pothole Festival on the road surface, if it would hold the crowd. The guts consist of cracked concrete and rusting metal. Underneath is a lively exhibition of the work of graffiti artists, who have made the best of a dull canvas.

According to a Valley News report, the dry bridge is a creaky 76 years old. About 10,000 vehicles a day crossed it, some going too fast and bouncing off the curb due to its narrow waistline. I long thought Danger Bridge would be a more fitting name.

Yet I missed it immediately. One detour, up Seminary Hill and down Glen Road, requires a sharp right turn that reminds me of roller-coasters, and there’s one-lane traffic through an old railroad underpass. Coming back, pulling safely onto the busy Miracle Mile feels like a miracle is called for if you have a stiff senior neck. (I do.)

The other, via Route 89, feels unnatural, since we have to head off in the wrong direction and then come back via the highway.

As it happens, neither detour takes all that long, but it’s the principle of the thing. I am being inconvenienced, which rates it as a disaster, up there with the sacking of Rome or the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

History mocks us, again. In less time than planners have been tinkering with the idea of replacing the dry bridge, the go-getters of the 19th century built the Brooklyn Bridge, 14 years. According to various online sources, the Arkadiko bridge in Greece, made from limestone boulders, is more than 3,000 years old. It is still in use, although chariot traffic has declined.

I don’t know how long engineers will take on this job, but I like the idea of gathering 20 or 30 retired old people to come up with ideas. I’m not very clever about such things, but maybe if they sent some dopey Cybertrucks to the crusher they could make something useful out of them — like support beams.

To really get things moving, we need to think out of the box. I propose naming the existing bridge for Gov. Kelly Ayotte, at a big ceremony with a ribbon cutting and much fanfare. Have a couple of bands, red white and blue balloons, and a Mission Accomplished sign. Desperate times call for desperate measures, including big ceremonial scissors.

This is somewhat unfair, since Ayotte just came into office, but she is part of a cheapskate political culture that is more fixated on low taxes than fixing bridges.

Nobody would want that wreck of a bridge named for them, even in New Hampshire. A replacement Ayotte Bridge might come along very soon. Or ASAP, whenever that is.

Dan Mackie lives in West Lebanon. He can be reached at dan.mackie@yahoo.com.