I have long claimed to be one of the cheapest folks I know. But this is not always true (as almost nothing is) because I will hop in my car and motor off to visit friends at the first inkling of an invitation. I am no dummy when it comes to getting the most travel or my dinero though. For instance, this weekend I was down in DC (which y'all already knew but hey) and if you were to ask anyone (with a moderately decent sense of where the hell they are) what the most logical way to get from Jersey to DC was they would undoubtedly say I-95, but oh-ho my friends, do you know how much that costs in tolls? About twenty buck.
No no, I decided that I would take a slightly longer route (which I have taken before) that costs only 75¢. And, since I wasn't real sure of the specifics of where I was going once I got into the DC metro area, I borrowed the GPS that I gifted to Daddy and Dahlin last Christmas. However, I made one mistake...I plugged the damn thing in too early.
There I am cruising along the highway, thinking I need to take it all the way to the end and this blasted thing keeps telling me to take every exit in Pennsylvania.
At first it was just annoying, but then I started to second guess myself. Was I going 50 miles out of the way for no apparent reason? So I scrolled through the ghosts of directions yet to come and saw that this route was not, in fact, going to put me back on the money-suck which is 95 and that it assured me I would reach my destination half an hour before I had anticipate. Excellent! I took the next exit.
Friends, that GPS is from hell.
I started to suspect this when the road it put me on began to narrow...and narrow...and curve around the side of a mountain...and narrow. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw a warning sign informing me of the possibility of amish-style horse and buggies for the next four miles, not that I have anything against the Amish (and even if I did methinks there is very little hazard of them reading about it on my blog), they are probably lovely folks and their Mennonite cousins used to sell me some very tasty produce when I lived out in Pennsylvania, but that shit was unsettling. The real come-to-Jesus moment occurred when a truck coming up the mountain nearly ran me off the side of the damn cliff. There may or may not have been some shrieking and it may have very nearly been the makings of a TMI Thursday post...just saying.
From that point on I expected the voice on the GPS to say "Drive .2 miles and pray!"
After a lengthy sojourn though stretches of road that had corn fields on both sides I finally did reach a high-speed road (which I was oh so tempted to pull over on, get out of my car and kiss). But I swear to God I think I heard a banjo in the distance for a while there.
...for the record, the first town I passed upon returning to a highway...Virginville, Pennsylvania.