Relying on a GPS is not always a good idea as I found this week on my way back from a meeting in upstate New York. I had opted for the ‘avoid major highway’ option and found myself turning down dubious streets in Peekskill. Next I was driving up, up, up for miles (3) in what I knew was the wrong direction. I crept along on hairpin turns against walls of rock, rushes of water pouring down onto the road that twisted ahead into the clouds ahead of me. Mist rose Shining-like from the all-too-close edge of the road. How do people do this through the icy days of winter? Cars sped towards me and I knew whoever was behind me was cursing my little Subaru as I crawled along, terrified.
Finally, down, down, down on the other side, tapping my brake, the road opened up and I saw a river and a narrow bridge. Across the river felt like the only option to get me going south in the right direction. The GPS was more than willing to accommodate, directing me across the bridge, down the road and to the right smack into Bear Mountain State Park on 5:45 PM on a dreary, Tuesday night. Frightening still, but I was relieved to be on level ground again, the risk of hurtling off a cliff, gone.
The road led me into the woodsy park where I was happy to see a State Trooper’s car. I wanted to be going in the right direction home but, heart still beating, I hoped that would not entail going back over the mountain. No such luck. I was on the wrong side of the Hudson and the way back to where I needed to be was over the bridge and up, up, up – down, down, down. “Drive safely” he said. It wasn’t so bad the second time round – I loosened my grip on the steering wheel and sang Beatles songs at the top of my lungs. It felt familiar as if I knew this road. Still a challenge, but I could handle it.
An hour later, after a few more unintended visits to towns I could have missed (Ossining – home of Sing Sing prison), I got onto the major roads going in the right direction. I never felt so happy to crawl along I-95 in rush hour traffic.