Daniel Rigney wrote about his “Hal 9000 GPS”. Very funny. Check it out.

His post reminded me that I was going to write about my experiences with GPS.

I didn't have much interest in getting one because, like, I hardly go anywhere I don't know where I'm going. Back in the day, when I occasionally had to head for an unfamiliar destination, I used Google Maps. With mixed results. I remember one place that it took me to by way of back roads. On leaving, I took a sensible main-road route, done by eyeballing the terrain. However, next time I went there I was unable to do that sensible route backerwards, and had to retrace my steps and approach again by that stupid back-roads way.

Well, whatever gets you there. And back home.

My first experience with GPS was with a nice new one in some friends' car. I was catching a ride with them to a place that both they and I had been to a number of times. The first part was simply going along the main trans-Canada route for a while – 401 to and partway thru Toronto, and then turning north onto 400. If somehow one passed the 400 turn-off, there were other roads north. All that was required, really, was to get off 401 in Toronto and go north.

Simple and straightforward.

But my friends wanted to play with their shiny new toy.

So somehow we missed the 400. Or perhaps the GPS had other ideas. All I remember now is that somehow we ended up wandering thru the northern suburbs of Toronto. There's a quite splendid Hindu temple there. The people on the streets were all East Indian. I wouldn't have minded lingering for a while, seeing if there were any likely looking eateries... But we had to get where we were going. “Turn right, go three blocks, turn left...” On and on. East Indians in colorful clothes and Hindu temples are very cool in their natural habitat, but they can't indefinitely save a modern Canadian suburb from terminal boredom.

On the way home it was a simple reversal – go down some road heading south towards Toronto and get back onto 401. No, too simple to go get on the 400 to 401, gotta let the GPS take us down some lesser southbound road. Okay...but - oh no! Back wandering the wilds of Toronto suburbs. At one point I threw a fit and demanded the driver pull over to that there gas station, and I stomped out of the car, into the store and got a goddamn paper map. Located where we were (with help of gas station attendant), demanded the GPS be turned off, issued my own verbal directions...and we got back onto the 401.

This experience turned me off the fool GPS newfangled things.

But then Canadian Tire (a national institution – car stuff and *more*) had a sale. And I was having one of my spells of trying not to Give Up & Be Old and instead Get With It...especially the gadget It. My anti-example was my sister, a few years older than me, who has spent years being intimidated by computers. Recently she has actually sent me two emails, our first internet communication.  (One of them was a chain letter.) I, in contrast, am only semi-intimidated by computers.

The GPS rattled around in the back seat for a long time. Until one day, when I was stuck waiting for someone and had half an hour to kill, I finally plugged it in, deciphered the instructions (always the most intimidating part of any new gadget), programmed in my home position and the position where I was currently located. Then I let it issue instructions on how to make the (short and simple) way home.

Okay.

Next time I was in Montreal, I plugged it in. Its directions on how to get out of town and onto the, yeah, 401, were just what I normally do. Then there were many miles and many hours just going west on the highway. The GPS would brrrring occasionally and reassuringly tell me to just keep on keepin' on. In time it properly directed me off the highway and down the appropriate country road. I was feeling really quite happy with it – it could actually prove useful if I ever had to go somewhere new. 

I reminisced about some adventures of the past. Human directions sometimes leave something to be desired. I remember once wandering around in the countryside trying to decipher instructions involving a house with a blue roof, after which we were to drive for another fifteen minutes...  It's a wonder we weren't lost forever.

Back to my GPS – it was starting to tell me that I was approaching home. But I had maybe 20 miles yet to go. Approaching home....approaching home...approaching home...you have arrived at home.

No I haven't! I'm still, uh, fifteen minutes away...and not even a blue roof in view. Or any roof. Let alone my (shiny steel) roof.

The GPS, satisfied that its work was done, shut up. Hasn't been heard from since. Well, I did pull the plug. One of these days I'll plug it in again and check my home coordinates. Meanwhile, I'm keeping my paper maps for those rare occasions I have to go somewhere I don't know where I'm going.