I don’t want to use the GPS if at all possible, I said to my friend who insisted I use it to navigate. “I know where I’m going."[1]
He wasn’t convinced, but in his slightly drunken state, he let it go. I may not have exactly known where I was going, but that’s the joy of driving without GPS. You have to rely on the road signs and your general sense of how things are laid out in a city if you’ve been there a few times before.[2]
I had been to Vacaville many times. There are outlets and a convention center of some sort, and these were the only things to see there.[3] And I learned that as I was driving through, not by relying on GPS.
For some reason, we always end up at Buffalo Wild Wings restaurant on Tuesdays and Thursdays when they have half-off deals. It’s on the other side of the freeway, and I know because I’ve been there probably half a dozen times.
“I’m using the GPS in here,” pointing to my heart, trying to channel Stephen Colbert’s hilarious Emmy Awards banter. But my friend still wasn’t convinced[4], so I pulled out Google Maps and looked at it for 30 seconds, just long enough to orient myself. I was not going to let some voice tell me where to go.
Then I saw a familiar road name, Nut Tree Road. “Yes, that’s the one with all the outlets on it."[5]
The nice thing about not relying on GPS is that you get a better mental picture of the city. And that knowledge outlasts the temporary suffering and irritation of your traveling companions.
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I didn’t. Actually, I knew the destination but I had no idea how to get there from the freeway exit I took.
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Actually, the convention center is nothing to look at. Not one bit. I say this, having not looked at it. Bold assumptions offending architects everywhere.
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Normally, he would also be bothered that I was saying something in English. But, a little bit of alcohol and those things can slide by. Also, the reference to an American cultural event does not translate well.
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I should have said, “Yes, that’s the road with all of the nut trees on it.” I’m not certain all nuts come from trees. In fact . . . do they? I don’t even know.