There are some stop signs here and there, some of them playfully hidden behind the underbrush, some of them tilted at odd angles, some of them flat on their backs. The stop signs are both a sop and a rebuke to misguided modernists who favor traffic lights. The Cape hates a traffic light like a vampire hates garlic. This means that people have died at the intersection you are about to enter and you do so at your own risk. It also means that proposals to put traffic lights there have been beaten down with a ferocity usually reserved for poisonous snakes.
Dead bodies are unsightly, but traffic lights are unspeakable.
I lived for three years near an intersection in Orleans that was perpetually strewn with broken glass from the latest accident. All efforts to erect a traffic light were defeated on the grounds that a light would clash with the semi-rural feeling of the road. Instead, the town bought an old house on one of the four corners and tore it down. There are still lots of accidents, but you can see them better now.