More and more recently I’ve considered the advantages to owning a GPS device in my vehicle, albeit usually when I’m lost, flustered, and have no idea where I am or where I’m supposed to be going, surrounded by a sea of inner city one-way streets and struggling to spot with my blind-as-a-bat vision an ill-placed behind an untrimmed tree, bent to beyond recognition, or, you know, altogether missing street sign. That’s when the “omgineedagpsrightnowagh!” instinct kicks in. It’ll tell me where to turn so I don’t have to guess. If I make a wrong turn and don’t realize it, the GPS will simply alert me to it and then automatically re-route me from my current positioning so I don’t have to find somewhere safe to pull over, dig out a map that is roughly the size of my Buick, and try to figure out what the hell I did wrong and how to right this wrong. The problem with Google Maps, I have learned, is that it just isn’t always that accurate, and that really isn’t cool when all you have is a specific printout and nothing more. I have definitely been the recipient of bogus directions before and I was not pleased.
On the preparedness scale, I’m up there around the 9.6 of 10 mark. I didn’t just print a map with directions to work and back home again. Oh, no. I printed 3 different sets of directions each way in case there’s smooth sailing, or accident/rush hour on the highways, or snow and ice on steep city streets. I also printed directions from Ted’s work to mine and back to his again – all stapled, organized and smartly labeled with a highlighter. I was indeed prepared, covering all my bases with a handful of options and alternate routes precisely so I could avoid getting lost, stuck, or delayed. I figured that with all the driving I’ll be doing downtown (and in some of the most seedy areas in Cincinnati, might I add), that my plethora of maps would be sufficient. Until, of course, I found myself tangled in a web of illegible street signs, streets that veer off into a 12-pronged fork of other streets, and street names that look and sound so similar (we’re talking one measly letter difference here folks) that you mistakenly turn there instead and find yourself trapped in an unending maze of one-way doom.
It took me all of five minutes out of the hour of lostness yesterday to enter panic mode and begin wondering why on Earth I thought I could navigate Cincinnati without a GPS. The rational side of me says that people survived for many, many years with the aide of simple maps instead of fancy talking GPS units. But were downtowns as sketchy and unmanageable back then as they are today? I doubt it. But I also doubt I can afford a GPS system with all its annual updates and maintenance anytime soon. The next best solution? Upon my arrival home I immediately logged onto Google Maps again, pleaded with it not to scam or plague me with ill-advised directions, and found a different way from CMC to CCM. It seems pretty tame and uncomplicated, much like the first set of directions, but I can assure you inner-city Cincy has some mean tricks up her sleeve. For now, my multiple-route, color-coded printouts will have to do until I’m better adjusted. As for the next big city we find ourselves permanently tied to, there will be a GPS in my car.
