There is something deeply Rhode Island about fixing potholes with a phone number.

Not fixing them, exactly — let’s not get carried away — but creating a system by which we may report them with vigor, track them with hope, and watch them change color on a map like leaves in October. Red dot, green dot — essentially a mood ring for asphalt. Problem, solved. Or at least acknowledged, which is its own kind of progress.

Gov. Dan McKee and the Department of Transportation have rolled out a 511 Pothole Hotline and an online dashboard, inviting Rhode Islanders to participate in a new civic ritual: See it, report it, and then periodically check a website to see if your particular crater has achieved enlightenment.

It is, in its way, beautiful.

Call 511 and a live human being will answer, 24/7, ready to hear about the exact moment your coffee achieved flight. Your report will be entered into a system, dispatched to a crew, and — if all goes well — transformed, within hours or days, into a green dot on RIDOT.net/potholes. Updates arrive every three hours, which is faster than many people check on relatives.

State officials note that nearly 600 of roughly 630 reported potholes have already been filled this year, using about 500 tons of asphalt. These are reassuring numbers, suggesting a government that is not only aware of potholes but actively engaged in a kind of ongoing, whack-a-mole relationship with them.

And yet.

If you live in Portsmouth — or anywhere that has achieved what might be called Advanced Pothole Conditions — you understand that potholes are less a series of isolated incidents and more a lifestyle choice imposed upon you by physics and winter.

East and West Main roads, for instance, are not so much roads as interactive experiences. East Main, in particular, might already be smooth and civilized had a proposed rotary near Clements’ Marketplace not inspired local resistance and a lawsuit, freezing progress in that uniquely New England way where nothing happens for a very long time, but very thoughtfully.

So the potholes stayed. They deepened. They developed character.

Now, finally, they can be reported.

This is where the system meets reality. The state invites us to call. Portsmouth residents, who have been quietly building a mental inventory of craters for years, may accept that invitation with enthusiasm. The result could be a hotline experiencing what experts call “a lot.”

Picture it: a chorus of civic-minded drivers, dialing in from every direction, each describing the same stretch of road with increasing specificity. “It’s the one just past the other one.” “No, the other other one.” Somewhere, a 511 operator takes a deep breath and opens a new ticket.

To be clear, this is a good idea. Transparency is good. Data is good. Accountability — the notion that contractors might someday be judged by the smoothness of their roads rather than the elegance of their invoices — is very good.

But a map of red dots is still a map of potholes.

The real fix remains less glamorous: time, money, asphalt, and the occasional willingness to agree on what should happen before the next decade arrives. Until then, Rhode Islanders will do what they’ve always done: drive carefully, complain creatively, and now, finally, press 511.

Progress, like a pothole repair, comes in patches.