We've all been there. Three hours into a road trip, you're thinking, "okay, only two hours left, I can do this" and suddenly "2 hours, 4 minutes" goes yellow. You're thinking, "no, no, no." But your immediate dismay does nothing to change the fact that Google Maps starts recalculating the time you have left. Two hours becomes three, maybe even four, and looking ahead at the digital map you can see that a part of the road has been colored red, letting you know that there is a traffic jam waiting for you just around the bend.
You're left with about five minutes to make the choice that you're presented with next. "There is an alternate route that will save you 30 minutes" is what Google Maps now says, giving you a split second to either agree or join the hoard of cars you can see in the distance, edging forward a few inches every moment or so.
So you take your chances, put on your blinker, and redirect your car towards the rapidly approaching exit ramp, following the road into completely uncharted territory, with only your GPS to trust.
For me, it's sort of terrifying. All the sudden you feel like you're heading in a completely different direction. You wonder if you've plugged in your destination correctly and how taking a right turn, away from the direction of the interstate, could possibly be correct. But you have to follow, what other choice do you have?
Somewhere between this fear and also the relief that you aren't sitting in miles of cars turned into inching caterpillars, you stop worrying so much and start looking around as you drive. You're passing houses of all kinds, from ugly to pretty, new to well-worn. As you come up on one, someone backs out of their driveway, a child visible in the backseat. You think of riding with your own mother, reminded of the errand running, of the ballgames, and summer vacations. You can imagine yourself living in the ones that you like, dreaming of the life you could make for yourself there. Every now and then, there are businesses that have obviously been in the family for generations, hand-painted signs alerting you to their presence. There are farmers markets, parks, and schools. You're driving down winding roads that you're sure the residents of this town know like the back of their hand.
You're left thinking of your own hometown, but also of the life that you could live here. It's hard not to imagine the million pathways that we each have the potential to follow. You wonder how all these people ended up here, in a small town like this. Were they born here? Did they move here? Why? Do they like it, or do they hate it?
By this point, the residual anger over the delay itself has subsided, and neither do you feel the fear you initially had at the prospect of this uncharted territory, this town that so many people call home but that you've never seen before in your whole life.
Instead, all you can feel is awe, at the realization that the world around you is so, so vast in so many different ways. These redirects give you a chance to step, or drive rather, away from the mainstream for a little while. Instead of endless miles of interstate, there is so much suddenly around you, all of it unique and beautiful in its own way. It's like you've been invited in on a little secret that nobody else would necessarily understand. It's riveting and one of the most unexpectedly pleasant things about road trips.
So, next time you find yourself staring down a row of stationary cars in the distance, Google Maps steadily adding time to your journey as you approach, I implore you to give yourself the chance to experience this very same thing first hand. Take the nearest exit ramp and fall in love with a town that you've never seen before and will likely never see again. Missing out on the miniature adventure would be depriving your GPS of it's fullest ability now that I've let you in on this nifty little feature.
