Our exchange went something like this:
Me: "Okay, well here we are, in the middle of a vast, flat nowhere. Flatter than a flapjack in winter. Flatter than a sod-buster's foot. I'll just clear everything out, and plug our destination into the ol' GPS again and we'll get out of this spot of trouble lickety-split. Shucks, this here ain't nuthin' but a little by-and-by no-how."
Mom: "Why are you talking like a pioneer crossing the prarie?"
Me: "Pardon Ma’am?"
Mom: "When was the last time you had a drink of water?"
Me: "Ummm . . . reckon I had me a taste of nature's nectar last time we stopped and shod the mule."
Alice: "Recalculating. . . ."
Mom: "How many fingers am I holding up."
Alice: "Recalculating. . . "
Me: "Six."
Alice: "Drive 4.6 miles and take a right on Western Australia X-15."
Mom: "Did she just say 'Western Australia'?"
Me: "I think that Sweet Alice is a bit bamboozled with the abbreviation for Washington, (WA), and is recitin' our fair state as 'Western Australia."
Alice: "Turn right on Western Australia X-15, watch out for Roos."
Mom: "You named the GPS's voice 'Sweet Alice'?"
Me: "Seemed appropriate at the time."
Alice: "We don't have all day Mate! Get yer arse goin'."
To which I obediently did as she commanded. Alice is a harsh task-master, or task-mistress, but up to this point a fair one. So, I follow her directions. Surprise! The road she has taken us to is gravel. And 15 miles of it. I am not taking the Vision across 15 miles of gravel in the middle of nowhere. No how, no way. That will simply never, ever, never-ever-never happen. So instead of taking the suggested road I ignore Alice and continue straight. I know this road will EVENTUALLY connect with another paved road that will take us where we want to go, I just don't know how far. With a plan in place we thundered into the hinterlands of wheat and dust and heat and lives long, long lost.
Alice: "Recalculating. . ."
Mom: "Well, that was less than helpful."
Me: "What in tarnation has gotten into that filly?"
Mom: "If you don't stop talking like that, I'll. . .I'll . . ."
Me: "You'll what there little Missy?"
Mom: "I'll poke you in the eye."
Now that takes me back a bit. She may be serious.
Alice: Recalculating. . ."
Me: "Fine. But at the next stop as soon as you go to sleep I'm burning your mother's furniture for a campfire."
Alice: "Turn around and go back to Western Australia X-15. Proceed 17.2 miles to Us 86, (Which she pronounced as 'us', not YOU-ESS), then take a right at the first junction."
Me: "Um no." I keep the bike going straight down the road.
Alice: "Turn around."
Me: "No."
Alice: "Turn around ya wanker."
Me: "NO!"
Alice: "Recalculating. . ."
Mom: "We could just turn it off. . ."
Me: "No. We did not spend our hard-earned money for a dash ornament. Had I wanted that I would have bought one of them there little Jesus figures with the bobbly head. No, I have faith that Sweet Alice will chart us a course straight and true."
Alice: "Drive 87 miles back to Ritzville and try again."
Me: "What the f ---?"
Alice: "Recalculating. . ."
Mom: "Please don't tell me we're going back to Ritzville."
Me: "No. No flippin' way."
Alice: "Yer fucked mate. Yer off the map."
Me: "Jumpin' Jehoshaphat! You're a dad-burned GPS for criminy sakes! You can't be lost!"
Alice: "Oh, I'm not lost, you are. If you don't want to follow my directions it's not my problem."
Mom: "Are you trying to strangle the GPS?"
Me: "Shut up and help me circle the wagons."
After some time we stumbled on a road that was paved and headed in a general northerly direction towards the golden land of Canada. I took it without hesitation. After a few miles we realized we were on the wrong side, (the SOUTH side), of I-90.
Mom: "I don't remember crossing I-90. How the heck did we get here?"
Me: "I have no idea, but there's the exit to Ritzville."
Alice: "Ha Ha. Recalculating. . ."
Eventually we found our way. I don't know how. It doesn't matter. If you have an explanation of how we headed north yet wound up on the south side of I-90 with no memory of crossing a 6-lane freeway I'm all ears. It may have been aliens, or the past hour could have been a joint hallucination in the parking lot of "EATS". I probably shouldn't have had the 'home grown' mushroom soup. The point is we persevered and pushed on, blindly cheerful as ever. Why this was nothing more than a minor setback. A blip in our schedule. Little things like this were bound to crop up every once in a while. Best just to take a deep breath and push on.
Then we hit the wind.
*** the journey continues tomorrow ***
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