The man is losing it.
I’ve gotten used to Steve firing up our GPS, Faith, to drive to places that he could find in his sleep. I concentrate on my puzzles and block out her prattling every name ever assigned to each highway. When he ignores her pleas to “turn around when possible,” I console myself: better her than me.
But for our trip to Newfoundland, Steve decided that we would listen to Faith and the truck’s built-in GPS’ in tandem. A month-long duet of “route recalculation” and “turn around when possible?”
Yes, absolutely, a second opinion would double our chances of finding the best route for our 8,000 mile journey.
Great, I buried my derision in a Sudoku book to muffle the electronic bickering and Steve’s angst over discrepancies.
On a few occasions the redundancy actually did come in handy for finding a park, café, or campground that one or the other GPS couldn’t. Still it wasn’t until our last stop of the trip that I would have had to eat my words had I said much of the above out loud. The built-in swore that the nearest campground was 72 miles away, but Faith listed a lovely little municipal campsite on a lake in Ellis, 7 miles down the road. I was so ecstatic to get off the highway and into such a pleasant little park that I took all my flak back—not out loud of course.