"I may not have gone where I intended to go,
but I think I have ended up where I needed to be."
-- Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul
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| Toy car and map 3-12-14 |
"The ability to tell a good route from a terrible one
is a valuable skill when leading an expedition.
Unfortunately for us all, it was a skill I did not possess."
-- Tahir Shah,
House of the Tiger King: The Quest for a Lost City
I'm no Amerigo Vespucci, but I was pretty darn proud of myself yesterday for navigating my way home after my dinosaur of a GPS finally kicked the bucket.
I was on a little road trip to an unfamiliar town, and was about an hour and 45 minutes from home when the gizmo conked out. Luckily, my atrophied navigational skills kicked in. I relied on road signs and instinct, and even though I missed my exit for the toll road, I didn't panic. I just kept following the signs, heading North and West, until I was back on track. I didn't mind the detour either. The scenery was better on this alternate route. I drove past a big pink candy factory.
Also, I knew that if the situation got dire I had a map in my glove box -- the real, accordion-folded paper kind. Remember those?
I remember car trips with my parents. Some of their best bickering happened with Dad at the wheel and Mom with her feet propped up on the dash, a road Atlas across her knees. He'd bark "Damn it! Marilyn, what do I do?" And she'd casually enumerate his potential options, pointing with her pinkie fingernail at possibilities he had to choose from, discussing what he could do as the exit loomed fast and hard. Then she'd say "Here!" He'd yell "Son of a pup!" and swerve our big yellow Colony Park station wagon across three lanes of traffic, barely catching the off-ramp.
Instead of the "navigator" he called her the "aggravator."
I remember car trips with my parents. Some of their best bickering happened with Dad at the wheel and Mom with her feet propped up on the dash, a road Atlas across her knees. He'd bark "Damn it! Marilyn, what do I do?" And she'd casually enumerate his potential options, pointing with her pinkie fingernail at possibilities he had to choose from, discussing what he could do as the exit loomed fast and hard. Then she'd say "Here!" He'd yell "Son of a pup!" and swerve our big yellow Colony Park station wagon across three lanes of traffic, barely catching the off-ramp.
Instead of the "navigator" he called her the "aggravator."
Even though GPS has undoubtedly saved some marriages and prevented some collisions, it's startling how completely we've come to rely on and trust electronic navigational tools. In days of yore, I used to map out a trip beforehand by looking at an actual map. I'd write directions on a notepad. I used my brain and my innate abilities, such as they were.
Now, even though I head out with a destination in mind, I often have no real understanding of the route between point A and point B. I don't pay much attention to where I am, or where I'm going. Even though I'm technically in the driver's seat, with cruise control and GPS I feel like a non-participant in the journey. It's like being spoon-fed. I just blindly trust the robot voice inside the magical whatchamacallit to faithfully deliver me from here to there. I have no backup plan because time after time the whatchamacallit gets me there without fail.
Until it failed.
Granted, it wasn't a very complicated route home, and as I said, I did fuck it up a little. Nevertheless, I was glad to have my skills tested and to find out that I actually do still have some, even if they are a bit rusty. And frankly, it was kind of nice not having the bossy GPS bitch riding my ass the whole time.
