ROAD WARRIORS: PART ONE

(Jasper Francis Cropsey, Starrucca Viaduct, Pennsylvania, 1865, Toledo Museum of Art)

It all began innocently enough.

These things usually do.

One week before the Bobster and I left for our Canadian adventure Heidi asked her father this question:

"Would you like to borrow my new GPS for your trip? I'd like you to check it out - to see if it's really worth all the hype."

Bob's brain shifted into high gear as he carefully examined the digital contraption in his hands.

I could see that he was highly interested in this thing.

In fact, he was actually getting - dare I say it - excited.

"Sure," Bob replied, "I'll test it out for you and give you a full report."

Heidi responded, "It'll be nice to have your insights."

The three of them - John had just walked into the room - talked techno-speak for the next 20 minutes as they took turns caressing the GPS in their sweaty little palms.

Me?

I sat on the sofa staring at the ticking clock on the mantel.

******

Fast forward one week.

The evening before our departure I notice that Bob is doing some mighty fast thumbing on the GPS screen.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

Ten minutes later he finally responds to my question.

"I'm programming the GPS for tomorrow's drive," he answers.

"Good," I say cheerfully, "that thing should keep me from having to slap you silly when you refuse to stop and ask for directions."

Bob replies, "Very funny."

******

We drive a whopping 660 miles on the first day of our journey.

Arriving in Hazelton, Pennsylvania we pull into the hotel parking lot in the early evening.

Miraculously, Bob and I are still speaking to each other as we open the door to our room.

Seconds later, I collapse onto the bed.

I see Bob grab the GPS.

I watch him thumb the tiny screen for awhile.

Then I say to him, "You're really into this thing."

The manic thumbing continues as he mutters, "Not really."

******

We hit the road again bright and early the next morning.

I notice that Bob is looking kinda spiffy in his mauve-y hued shirt.

I turn to him and say, "Do you know that the color of your shirt perfectly matches the color of your lips?"

He glances at me and says, "Why are you surprised? I planned it that way."

I laugh until my guts hurt.

Bob and I speed down the interstate for another three and a half mind-numbing hours.

Suddenly, the GPS voice - which is a woman's, by the way - calmly says:

STAY IN THE RIGHT LANE.

Bob glides into the right lane at the speed of light.

BEAR RIGHT AND TAKE EXIT 36A.

Obediently, he does exactly what she tells him to do.

THEN TURN RIGHT.

Bob makes a sharp right turn.

STAY IN THE LEFT LANE AND PROCEED 1.2 MILES.

I think to myself, "Come on, GPS lady, are you sure it isn't 1.26758 miles?"

Bob, of course,  is busy proceeding exactly 1.2 miles.

In the left lane.

AFTER 250 FEET, YOU HAVE REACHED YOUR DESTINATION ON THE LEFT.

Bob flies down the road another 250 feet.

Then something truly amazing happens.

I hear choirs of angels singing as I gaze starry eyed at the Cracker Barrel sitting majestically before me.

I turn my head and say to Bob, "Hey, this thing works like magic!"

He smiles contentedly.

Let's be honest here.

It's not like we needed the GPS to find a Cracker Barrel.

They practically sit on top of every interstate in this country.

And you can find one every 7.539 miles.

But Bob is trying to impress me with the talents of his new friend.

It's working.

I look at him again.

I think I see a twinkle in his eye.

I double check to be sure.

Yup.

It's definitely there.

Bob's eyes don't twinkle that often.

In fact, the last time I saw it happen was back in 1995.

I'm no mathematician but I'm thinking that was around 16 years ago.

Bob had just fired up his first non-work-related PC.

Suddenly, the monitor glowed with an eerie light.

And that's the moment when I saw his first twinkle.

Now, I've just witnessed the second one.

I'm pretty sure I have the GPS lady to thank for that.

Hmmm.

I can see I'm going to have to keep a very close eye on this little chickie.