Summer vacation is a time to sit back and relax at a beach or some other place that’s far from the madding crowd. I, on the other hand, judge my vacations on how many mishaps I endure over the course of a week. As far as I’m concerned, it’s not a vacation if it’s not laden with misadventures.
I will not bore you with usual stories of cheap hotels with defunct wifi systems, overpriced tours and poor service at restaurants. That’s to be expected to a certain extent. No, my main gripe on this vacation has to do with Google Maps and an asshole at Bojangles.
I spent three days in Savannah, Ga and was ready to move onto the second leg of my journey. I got up early and stopped at a Bojangles drive thru when I heard a pop. Some scumbag planted a container of honey mustard near the pickup window which sprayed all over the side and hood of my car. Needless to say, I wasn’t amused, especially since this was a fairly new paint job. I did my best to clean this mess up. It would’ve been nice to find a carwash that was open at 5:30 in the morning, but time was wasting and I needed to get a move on before all the yahoos hit the road.
Driving in Georgia is always a pleasure. I didn’t know NASCAR had that many drivers and that the highways were venues for time trials. I’m not sure what the speed limit was on this particular autobahn, but I do know the minimum is 40. The state of Georgia wanted to make sure everyone knew that because it was posted every 5 miles.
It’s not like this highway was bereft of troopers, there were plenty of them. I distinctly remember one cop parked his car with its nose hanging into traffic monitoring our speed. I guess he wanted to make sure we weren’t going 40.
As I was ass-puckering my way to Andersonville, I noticed Google Maps was awful quiet. Something was wrong. I pulled off the autobahn in order to get my bearings. Sure enough, Google Maps wasn’t responding. Now, I normally plot out my destination by writing down what roads and exits to take. However, I decided to go full tech on this particular trip. Now, I’m screwed.
She finally responded, and sure enough I had passed my exit, however, an alternative route was provided. As we meandered our way down back roads, Ms. Maps told me to make a right turn. I stopped and looked at what seemed to be a driveway. I shook my head and exclaimed, “No way.”
I resumed down the “regular” road when Ms. Maps barked at me with an urgency I’ve never heard before. She kept repeating over and over that I must turn around and follow the cowpath. I can honestly say, Google Maps never acted that way before; it was as if we were married. She was basically calling me a dumbass; that I was making the biggest mistake of my life and that I would soon regret not following her advice. So I turned around.
The cowpath began to widen and turned sandy with drifts in the center. Mind you, my car is a Honda Accord which has low clearance. Needless to say, I was a little worried about bottoming out when the “road” finally turned into clay. I began to notice there were no more houses. Both sides of the road were either wooded or lumbered out and there wasn’t a road sign in sight.
I’ve driven down roads like this before and they always seem to pop out on a state road, so I wasn’t awfully concerned, as long as I had a decent tank of gas and the roads didn’t turn into mud, which of course, is exactly what happened. Now, I’m concerned.
As, I slipped and slided my way through one mud hole after another, I began to pray for a paved road. My doubts began to subside when Ms. Maps told me to take a left at the next intersection. Now, how could she have known about this intersection? I’m in the middle of nowhere on a road that really isn’t a road. As a matter of fact, I could drop my drawers and take a leak in the middle of this intersection without any fear of someone seeing me, which is exactly what I did.
My hopes buoyed in the belief that Ms. Maps knows where she’s going. That was until she told me take a right ... into fenced off pasture. Hell, it wasn’t even a pasture. There wasn’t a cow or livestock of any kind in sight; it was a wasteland of dead, toppled trees. I couldn’t believe it. Was this a cruel joke? I was expecting a sinister laugh to emanate from my phone.
You got me good Google Maps. Now, I have to retrace my steps without getting lost or stuck in this red clayed no-man’s land. If that happens I’m truly screwed. There is no way in hell I’m going to be able to direct anyone to my whereabouts.
Luckily, I found my way out. Had I ignored Ms. Maps I would’ve stumbled upon a state road that was only a couple of miles away. If I learned anything from this trip, it’s that I’ll follow my gut and ignore this errant navigator with a female voice.
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