We recently took a trip to Pella, Iowa, to visit some friends for a few days. Been there several times before, so I knew the route quite well. West on I-80, take the Montezuma exit heading south.
Leaving behind the busy interstate, we ventured into the calming Iowa countryside. The corn stalks already stood taller than I; the fields were crammed with what promises to be a bountiful harvest.
Same with the soybeans. Thick and lush green fields of low-lying bean plants offered a break in the landscape of corn.
Driving along, I recalled a comedian’s description of driving through the region: “Corn…corn…corn… Look! A tree!!….corn…corn…corn….”
A slight exaggeration.
In truth, the rolling landscape of eastern and central Iowa possesses a beauty all its own. It really is relaxing and soothing to drive through the region.
As an aside, remember the moniker “Sunday driver!”—a not too complimentary epithet leveled at a slow driver meandering along the highway? My guess is the term harkens back to a simpler time when the family—or maybe just mom and dad!—hopped in the car on a Sunday afternoon for a leisurely drive through the countryside, leaving all the cares and troubles behind, soothed by the landscape.
With I-80 in the rearview mirror and the small town of Montezuma ten miles ahead, we were surrounded by the serenity of a palate of green—shades from pale lime to deep forest. The bright sunshine, scattered puffy clouds against the blue sky, and relative solitude on the highway offered a taste of “Sunday drive” appeal.
Passing through the small town of Montezuma, only the smaller town of New Sharon—13 miles ahead—lay between us and our destination in Pella.
New Sharon is one of those stereotypical small rural farming communities—no stop lights at all, just a four-way stop at the intersection of Main & Market Streets.
Following the GPS directions on the screen of our Jeep dashboard, we were traveling along Rt. 63, which turns into Market Street in town. GPS said go straight at the four-way stop.
Problem.
Straight ahead a sign was posted on the other side of Main Street that declared the road was closed ahead, and directed me to turn left, heading south on Main Street. Indeed, less than a quarter mile down the road, I could see the barricades.
Ah, my trusty Jeep GPS didn’t know about this little snafu.
Well, what to do other than take the detour south.
And south we went. And went. And went some more. All the while, of course, the GPS is telling me to turn around and go back to the closed road. Sigh.
Surely, I eventually thought, I must have missed the sign directing us west. We’ve gone too far south!
So, using my peerless male directional instincts, I saw a good east-west road and headed west. I figured sooner or later the brains in the dashboard would recalculate a route that doesn’t try taking me back to a closed road!
The westbound road eventually came to a T-intersection—south or north? Which way to go? By then, the dashboard seemed to catch up and directed me north.
Obediently, I followed. My next turn—a mile ahead—was to be left, heading west again. Oh, by the way, by now the asphalt road had turned to a dusty, gravel country road.
Arrived at the designated turn—another problem.
Looking left, a large sign declared, “Road Closed Ahead.”
Looking straight ahead, a large sign declared, “Road Closed Ahead.”
Do I turn around and head back south? Or do I turn right, heading east, and hope for another north-south road ahead?
East it was. A mile ahead, at another T-intersection, dashboard told me, I could head north.
The sign at that intersection said otherwise. “Road Closed Ahead.”
Pause here a moment. I’m sure some are thinking, “In the good ol’ days, you’d have a map to follow and wouldn’t have to rely on that dumb ol’ dashboard!” True, but the map wouldn’t know which roads were closed, either!
I don’t like to do it, but sitting at that intersection I finally pulled out my phone, tapped on Google Maps, typed in my desired destination, and hit “enter.” Within seconds, the route was mapped out, and the woman in my phone told me the chosen route avoided road closures and was the fastest route. We were only 8.4 miles away.
Sigh.
Eleven minutes later, we pulled our filthy, dusty Jeep into our friends’ driveway. No more signs or detours.
Life Detours
Ever have any life experiences like this?
A good friend you’ve known a long time and whose opinion you value advises you to head south. Off you go…smack into a closed road or a dead end.
When I was in 8th grade, a friend and I were in the local Jewel one afternoon.
“You like that pen? Go ahead and take it! You can slip it in your coat easily!” he advised.
So I listened to his directions and headed to a closed road. Didn’t get caught by anyone in the store, but my conscience didn’t release me of that offense until I settled it with a store manager three years later.
Another friend suggested a different route.
“Let’s plop some quarters in the cigarette machine and get a pack of Marlboros,” he advised. (In the early 1970s, stores had cigarette vending machines at the entryway—can you imagine!?!?)
Fortunately, even though I followed his directions and puffed on a few, I had enough sense to realize that route would eventually lead to a dead end…perhaps literally!
A friend advises you to make a purchase you can’t afford…another advises you to “follow your heart,” even though you know in your head it’s wrong…yet another advises you to retaliate against someone, in spite of the likelihood of escalating things.
How vital it is that the “GPS” we listen to is well-informed with the truth, with moral sensibilities, with virtue. He or she needs to be able to see beyond the next turn, understand where the road will take you, and perceive the best route to the desired destination.
Ever hear the story of Amnon? You can read about it here. He was one of King David’s sons who developed a crush on his half-sister Tamar. Foolishly, he plugged the destination point of having Tamar into the GPS of his equally foolish friend Jonadab. The voice came back with a route.
“Pretend you’re sick, and when your dad comes to visit you, ask him to send Tamar to fix you some supper,” said the GPS. “Once she’s with you, you can do as you please!”
Amnon made the turn heading in that direction. The route seemed to be a good one—to Amnon, anyway. David came. He sent Tamar. He got her alone….and raped her.
He didn’t count on the “road closure” of hatred he would feel for her after his grievous crime. He didn’t count on the detour of her utter humiliation…of her telling her full-blood brother Absalom…of David’s anger with the offense.
GPS Jonadab didn’t see all the detours and road closures either. Nor did he see the dead end ahead.
In time, Tamar’s brother Absalom revenged the rape and humiliation of his sister by executing Amnon, which led to a whole host of other unexpected twists and turns in David’s kingdom.
All because of a faulty, uninformed “GPS.”
That faulty voice can turn a serene, enjoyable drive in the countryside into a frustrating, stressful, aggravating experience.
Can leave a layer of grime on your car, too!
