I wondered about that too. I grew up riding my bicycle on very smooth chip roads in NW Ohio.
I've never seen a chip road here in Maine. They are either crushed stone (referred to as a "dirt" road for good reasons :laughing
or asphalt which cracks up, chunks out, and gets deep dips that are best dodged by small cars. Not to mention the late winter frost heaves.
Yup, front end alignment at least once a year, steering wheels never on center and forget about driving and drinking coffee unless it's in a sippy cup. You'll be wearing it even if on the best road in town. When I got here--Ohio-- from Maine I went in for my typical alignment and the guy asked "why"? Duh, that was over 10 years ago and no alignment since.
I recall driving those "dirt" roads that are actually bank run gravel with rocks and having the paint sandblasted off the back of the wheel openings on my truck. Sigh. And it's not uncommon to see the edges of logs peeking out of the edge of the road surface from the old "corduroy" roads.
But, the Great State of Maine has so many things going for it that it's worth putting up with these somewhat disappointing inconveniences for the sake of living in the beauty of it all.
Actual Maine story...
Edit--I'll mention I hit the mother of all frost heaves back in Detroit, Maine back in the mid 1970's. I was going way too fast on a spring day and nearly, or maybe did go airborne. I landed in an uncontrollable slide and knew something was amiss right away. I broke the back cab mounts off and bent the rusty frame on my old GMC pickup.
I had no money, absolutely none, so the kind soul in the local country gas station took pity and was going to stick weld and plate the frame for me. When he went to flip his hood down to get started, the rod hit the fuel line and a small pencil sized stream of gas was pouring out and on fire. He started the lift down and I tried to smother it with a pail of old gear oil (I was a kid). He actually pushed it the last foot off the lift and into the yard of the station and we got the fire out.
It gets worse because he had heart trouble and had some sort of attack or whatever right there in the yard. I called the squad--things were different in the 1970's--and told them Ken's garage in Newport. Little did I know we were actually in Palmyra by 15 or so feet and there indeed was a separate Ken's garage in Newport proper, 10 miles away. They went to the wrong place.
He recovered fine and we stayed great friends for the rest of his long life. Oh, some of the starter wires had burned and until he could fix it for me (I was dumb back then as well), I had to push start it by parking on hills when I went to work. My friend and I gave it a little push and downhill we popped the clutch. And we did it wearing nice suits. Good grief, how did we ever live this long. True story.