GPS systems are a wonderful thing, but the following story explains why they’re not fool proof. Hence "The Horrible tale of Killybegs" (for effect it helps if you say it with an Irish accent).
We’re still in Ireland and I’ve been driving most of the day (on the wrong side of the road) along the coast of Donegal (generally dodging the friendly locals trying to run me off road). One of the things that really cracks me up is that you’re driving on extremely narrow winding roads where you can’t possibly go more than 25 miles per hour; yet the speed limit signs say 80 kpm (which is about 55 mph). I believe I have this one figured out. The guys on the road crew must spend the better part of their day in the pub, and then decide, “Time to go put up the signs!” There’s also a sister organization that takes down signs. You’ll be driving along trying to get to a specific destination. You’re very close; you come to a “T” in the road and for whatever reasons the signs just stop. It’s kind of like they’re saying we’ve been helpful enough… now you go figure it out. So you’re forced to ask one of the friendly souls who just a short while ago was trying to crash you into a rock wall.
So it’s the end of the day, we’re looking to find a place to eat and then head back to the haunted house we’re staying at (that’s another story). We decide go to “Killybegs”, a fishing town. It’s supposed to be quaint, historic and quiet. We have Helen our GPS systems turned off because it seemed like a simple trip from where we were, and I was also kind of tired of being judged and told how to drive…by someone other than my wife.
Anyway, we get into the town of Killybegs and it’s a complete mad house. They have a festival going on, there’s no parking and it’s bumper to bumper. Time to leave. We decide to head to the town of Donegal. I have the brilliant idea to put the GPS system back on and plot a course. Well Helen gets back on-line but something seems off. She’s not herself.
We finally muscle our way out of town and head down some roads that look older and less frequently used. I’m figuring we’ll probably spill out onto a major road shortly and then we’ll be fine. That never happened.
If I thought we were on a small road before, Helen now has us on a road that’s so narrow that it’s clear only one car can fit on it at a time. The only problem is the road is not a one-wayer. We continue on and I’m thinking, “I don’t want to argue with the technology, but maybe we should just turn around.” Now we’re on this road for a good 7 or 8 miles and we have not seen a car in either direction since we left “downtown” Killybegs. It gets better; we pass a sign that tells us we’re in an “Alert Zone.” Now I’m feeling great, I must have driven my family into a remote military missile range. At this point the road can barely fit one car on it. Weeds and shrubs are up against both sides of the car as we drive along. My wife asks me if I can move the car over my way. I tell her that won’t be possible if we want to keep the fenders and door on my side of the vehicle.
We’ve been driving now for over 12 miles and we’re in the absolute middle of nowhere. The road is disintegrating. The macadam in the middle of the road has broken and is pitching up. Weeds and shrubs are growing out of it and I can hear them scraping along the underbelly of the car. In the back of my mind I’m thinking, “In just a couple of moments I’m going to lose the transmission of the car on the middle of the road that now pitches up about 8 to 10 inches. Next, the Irish version of Deliverance hill folk will show up.” At this point the tension in my neck and back is so intense it’s going to require multiple doses of very expensive prescription drugs if I’m going to be able to look out a side window. Even if the Deliverance people did show up and put a gun to my head and told me to get out of the car, it wouldn’t make a difference - I’d lost all the feelings in my legs as well.
As we soldier on, we come across a log that’s lying across the road (no, that’s too generous, by this point it was a rural path) I sacrifice my son and ask him to get out of the car and move the log out of the way. It looks to be about 9 or 10 inches in diameter. He comes back to the car and asks me why I didn’t just run it over. The log was completely hollowed out from decay. It was really just the bark sitting there. Now I’m thinking to myself, “Crap, I bet nobody’s been on this road since 1949.” With that thought in mind, we pick up some speed and naturally stray into the weeds a bit on the passenger side. We hear a loud bang and everyone goes silent. We all know this is not going to be good, but the car continues to run. We continue on for a while and then decide to stop the car. I walk around to the passenger side of the car and cringe as I turn the corner to examine the damage. I see some surface scratches (mere flesh wounds in the battle for driving dominance in Ireland) But then I look down and notice a tree branch (about ¾ of an inch thick is jammed between the tire and metal wheel of the front of the car. It’s sticking out about 15 inches, but it’s in so deep that I can’t pull it out. I have to break it off at the wheel. The tire seems to be holding air so I get back into the car, put it into drive and pray that in a moment or two I’ll wake up from this nightmare.
Now we’re driving for at least 20 miles and the GPS system shows that in the distance…this tiny line of a road connects with a larger road. I have one nightmarish thought though. What if… and I refused to say this out loud to my family… we get to the end of the road, and because the road has obviously been abandoned for centuries, they’ve put up a fence with a lock on it. This would mean that I’d need to put it in reverse and drive about 25 miles looking over my shoulder, trying to stay on the “path.” This presupposes that my head had not snapped off my shoulders. These were some of the negative thoughts I needed to keep to myself.
I look in the distance and I see a white-tiered fence crossing a road. I’m not exactly sure how I kept from sobbing uncontrollably but luckily when we approached the fence, it was in front of the driveway of a farm that was on the corner of our path and the major road.
I now understand the true meaning of the word Euphoria. (Actually, I experienced it twice on the trip. The 2nd time was when I turned in the rental car).
Last piece of this story was hysterical at the time, but you kind of had to be there. Picture yourself being totally stressed out and the only thoughts you can comprehend now are one or two-dimensional. We’re in the car and we get to the main road and come to stop. My wife has the map open and says, “We’re going to make a left here.” At this point I’m untrusting of man or machine and ask, “What’s left?” She then takes my question very literally...and points to her left.
