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Front Porch: GPS brings comfort, stresses to travel

Brow furrowed I flipped the map sideways, then upside down. “I think we turn left at Canada,” I announced. “Or maybe right.”

Since we were on our way to Disneyland and were just outside of Bend, Oregon, my husband was not amused. “Gimme the map,” he said.

My cherry red Pontiac LeMans veered erratically as Derek studied the map, while steering with his knee. Finally, he tossed it in the backseat. “We’ll figure it out,” he said.

“OK,” I replied. “But if we don’t see Mickey by nightfall, you’re going to regret not taking that left at Canada.”

That was 26 years ago. I’m pleased to tell you that road trips have changed. My husband is even more pleased.

Recently, we traveled to Olympia for a wedding. Somewhere outside of Ellensburg, I programmed our destination into my GPS.

Longtime readers of this column may remember that Derek bought me my first GPS five years ago. Prior to that when lost out on an assignment, I’d call his office and ask questions like; “I’m on the Moran Prairie. Am I in Idaho?” Or, “What happened to the rest of F street?”

Though initially skeptical of this gift of technology, I came to embrace it. Lee, the sexy Australian voice that I picked to give me directions, was an added perk.

Sadly, like all things technical, Lee became outdated and last year I bought myself a new GPS. This device doesn’t come with any cute accents, but it gets the job done and most of the time gets me where I need to be.

However, on this trip we discovered that while helpful, a GPS can also make a long trip seem longer. Much, much longer.

All was well until we reached the outskirts of Auburn. Our GPS alerted us that there was traffic congestion ahead and advised an alternate route.

According to the device, our original arrival time was 4:45. Remember the old days when you just calculated the miles you had to go and your average speed? Well, now technology can pinpoint the exact minute you’ll arrive – theoretically that is.

We watched in horror as our arrival time moved to 5:24. We had dinner reservations at 6!

The alternate route seemed tempting. “Save 39 minutes,” read the display.

And here is where the rubber met the road, or where my husband had to decide whether or not to surrender his manly ego and control of our destiny to a tiny electronic device.

“What do you think?” he asked. “Should we take the alternate route?”

My stomach rumbled. “I don’t want to miss our dinner reservation and I’m all about the road less traveled,” I replied.

Please note, I did not say I thought we should obey the GPS. In fact, I’m confident were I to face a jury of my peers for the debacle that followed, they would agree that I in no way insisted my husband follow the digital directions.

Be that as it may, Derek was behind the wheel and chose to take the suggested exit. We detoured through Auburn, but not before spending exactly 10 minutes and 35 seconds stuck in the exit lane. As if to mock us, the GPS display now read, “Alternate route. Save 8 minutes.”

Derek groaned. “What happened to 39 minutes?” he yelled. “I knew it! We should have stayed on Highway 18 and dealt with the delays.” As he spoke the digital display switched to: “Save 2 minutes.”

We stared at each other in disbelief.

For the next 40 or 400 minutes, we crawled our way through Auburn at speeds as high as 25 mph. The digital roadside signs announcing mileage to Olympia remained ominously dark. “Oh, that’s not a good sign,” said Derek.

I don’t think the pun was intended.

The GPS dinged with a new update. “Alternate route. Save 0 minutes.”

I’m pretty sure our screams of outrage could be heard all the way to Olympia.

“I wish I’d named this GPS, so we could have something to curse,” I said.

Derek thought for a minute. “Her name is Marcia. You know like from the Brady Bunch; Marcia, Marcia, Marcia.”

While he blamed Marcia for her stupid alternate route, I kept track of the passing street signs.

I never want to live in a place where there’s a 244th Street.

And then suddenly, the traffic cleared. An exit to the open interstate appeared. The GPS said our arrival time was 5:18.

“But remember when it was 4:45,” Derek said with a sigh. “Remember that?”

No matter. Now, we’re actually driving 60 mph and each mile brought us closer to our destination – and dinner.

Technology is great, but sometimes the old-fashioned way of travel is less stressful.

“In the old days we wouldn’t have known any better,” Derek said. “We would have just been stuck in traffic without mocking displays adding and subtracting to our time, and no horrible alternate route suggestions to tempt us.”

I whole-heartedly agreed. “Next road trip, I’ll bring a map!” I enthused.

Silence filled the car. Just like in the old days when turning left at Canada seemed like a good idea.

Contact Cindy Hval at dchval@juno.com. She is the author of “War Bonds: Love Stories From the Greatest Generation.” Her previous columns are available online at spokesman.com/ columnists. Follow her on Twitter at @CindyHval.

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