Column: GPS has its merits, but sometimes the horse knows the way

I was alone in the car, but I spoke aloud: “Oh, no!”

I was driving back home to Maine from southeastern Massachusetts, and had just passed over the Zakim Bridge in Boston. Now the GPS was telling me to take the Tobin Bridge to Route 1.

Since I spent many years traveling frequently between Maine and Massachusetts (where I grew up), I knew the direction was not off base. My husband, Paul, and I had sometimes taken it as an alternative to a section of I-95. 

But I didn’t relish the thought of the local route. Wouldn’t it be slower? I decided to follow the GPS directions anyway, and noted that the traffic exiting the bridge to head towards I-95 was backed up. Maybe Siri did know what she was talking about.

This was the first time I made a familiar journey guided entirely by GPS. Usually, Paul and I would make the four-hour trip together. When my  mother was still alive, we drove down often. We knew the way, like faithful horses who can get back to the barn on their own.

I had found, however, that when traveling alone I preferred to set the GPS and have it tell me where to go. I know it sometimes sends drivers to the wrong places, but that hasn’t happened to me yet. And, as I said, I did know where I was going—generally speaking. I just didn’t want to have to make split-second decisions while in the midst of people doing 70 mph on the interstate.

I wanted to be told, “In 10 miles, get into the left-hand lane to take Exit 32 South.”

Now, that’s being prepared!

I was a bit surprised when, while heading south the day before, Siri told me to take the connecting road between I-295 and the Maine Turnpike, instead of proceeding through Portland. But I followed her directions. This was on a Friday, early in the afternoon. When I returned home the next day, in the evening, she told me to go through Portland. So I saw her reasoning, if it could be called that. The traffic on 295 was undoubtedly heavier on the workday.

Before heading to a memorial service in Massachusetts on Saturday, I drove to Rhode Island, to stay with my sister and brother-in-law Friday night. The GPS made it easy for me to get off the highway to get gas and a coffee. The station was located on a four-lane boulevard with a dividing median. There was no way I could have figured out how to back on the interstate without Siri’s help. At least in this decade.

On Saturday, my sister and I both set our map apps to our destination, the city of Fall River, and got into our respective vehicles. I would follow her there, as I would be leaving directly from the service to go north to Boston. It didn’t make sense to go back to Rhode Island to fetch my car and then north to Boston from there.

Sound confusing? Yes. That’s why I needed Siri.

After a leisurely drive along country roads, we entered the pell-mell raceway that is I-95 North through Providence. I was barely able to visually register a billboard that proclaimed, “Welcome to Friartown,” a nod to my alma mater, Providence College. Go Friars!

I lost sight of Maggie, but it didn’t matter. I had Siri. Also, I really did know the way.

Still, Maggie called me. I haven’t set up hands-free operations in my vehicle yet, so I ignored the call. My knuckles were white from gripping the wheel.

Soon we merged onto I-195, which was nowhere near as crazy. We crossed the Braga Bridge into Fall River. I was torn between looking north to the town of Somerset, where I had grown up, or south, to Tiverton, R.I., where my mother was born and spent her youth, and I, my first year of life. It was a clear day, and I could see all the way to the Mount Hope Bridge, which one of my uncles had helped to build.

I tried to clear my head of memories. The GPS was saying to take the next exit and go right. It split, left to Plymouth Ave., right to Hartwell St. But what was this? Maggie was going left. What should I do? Follow the virtual Siri or the real Maggie?

I chose reality, but I should have chosen Siri.

My GPS redirected me to turn a couple of corners to get onto Hartwell. Maggie’s was obviously telling her to do the same thing. In a few minutes, we reached our destination.

Maggie admitted to her mistake later. Her GPS, like mine, had told her to take Hartwell, but she ignored it.

After the service, I climbed back into my SUV and set the GPS for home. I didn’t look at the route in advance because, of course, I really knew the way. 

Still, it was comforting to be forewarned to switch lanes in order to be ready to merge from Route 24 to I-93. The journey along Route 1 was uneventful, and I had to admit that it was pleasantly distracting to see the shops and restaurants along the way. 

I was relieved, however, when I received my directions to take I-295 through Portland, and could then shut the GPS off.

This horse knew the way back to the barn from there.