“Let’s Go!”

Her voice haunts me…

It was kinda flat, but held a hint of false cheeriness. Professional, confident and yet, so very disconcerting. She was the voice of our recent vacation…which included a road trip through the Mid-South.

Once, it was more colorful: “Get back on the interstate, drive down three exits for Stubbville, bear right at the red barn, and then go straight for 2 miles and turn left at the Dairy Queen and you’ll be on State Road 101, it’ll wind through the hills for about 5 miles until you get to Wolfe’s Repair, with the old blue Impala up on blocks, and then you will make another left onto Henderson…etc.”

Sure, these directions were almost impossible to follow, but they were interesting.

Today, all we need to do in order to get lost is to type in the address and let an app like Waze or Google Maps guide us to our destination, using the most efficient route possible.

And it always begins with a cheery (but not too cheery) “Let’s go!”

On our recent trip the eponymous female voice of our GPS was there to guide us along our journey. It took us from Missouri, where we visited with friends, and then down through Branson, into Arkansas, and along scenic route 14 that skirted the Ozarks, including taking us to find a land-bridge that was not to be found.

Although we did find plenty of bug-bites.

Eventually, our GPS voice brought us back to the interstate and into Memphis; however, the character of the city was lost on her as she called out directions and route numbers. The expanse of the Mississippi went unnoticed as we crossed the arched bridge, as did the various landmarks and neighborhoods we passed by on our way to the motel.

While in Memphis, our GPS voice guided us impersonally along the city streets, as we visited the National Civil Rights museum, enjoyed some barbecue, visited Beale Street, the museum of Rock and Roll and the legendary Stax Record studios. At the studio, I got to see Isaac Hayes’ custom Cadillac, filled with all kinds of options, like a TV, cooler, and fur lined seats…but no GPS, and I figured that he never once missed it!

Isaac ALWAYS knew where he was going!

Our GPS lady also took us to a park along the river, where the bridges were lit up with dancing lights, which reflected off of the water, which shimmered in the fading daylight. It was a beautiful, warm night, but our GPS took no notice of the sights, the people wandering the park, or the music that drifted on the warm summer air all the way from the bars on Beale…it simply reeled off street names and told us to go left or right, and led us down dead-end streets before telling us to turn around.

While driving around Memphis, I was struck by the juxtaposition of having the streets and directions announced so coolly by the GPS, while experiencing them as so full of life and music.

When it was time to leave Memphis, our GPS directed us to the parking lot of Graceland and then off across Tennessee towards Nashville. Taking us away from the city of the Blues with her usual subdued enthusiasm by saying “Let’s go!”

She took us from the interstate and into the hills where we sought out a more scenic drive…but found that this part of Tennessee looks an awful lot like our part of Pennsylvania, so we asked our GPS to take us back to the interstate and on into Nashville!

On our way, we made a pit-stop at a “Visitor’s Center” to get our bearings and use the restrooms. It was in a small, brick building. It was nothing fancy, but it was clean and convenient. The staff of the center seemed friendly enough, asking where we were visiting from, and telling us about some scenic areas nearby; however, as I waited for my girlfriend to finish up in the restroom, I perused the books for sale in the lobby and noticed something interesting.

Most of the books were about Nathan Bedford Forest, and then I saw that there were pictures of him around the room, along with historical displays about his life and service during the war…and what he did later in life!

Although dulled from the road-trip, it did not take me long to realize that I was standing in a shrine to the General and his ‘great’ achievements!

Yes, I knew we were in Tennessee; however, standing in this shrine to the founder of the KKK left me feeling more than a little uncomfortable, and I was reminded that we cannot always judge a book by it’s cover, as the people I met there gave me no clue of their point of view – but then why would they, it was obvious to anyone who was paying attention.

While standing there looking at the propaganda, I did catch myself contemplating saying something about the books and displays…and their implications, but this thought passed quickly. Common sense then took over and made me see the wisdom of discretion in this case, and I waited until we were back in the car and driving away before mentioning anything to my girlfriend.

While she found the whole thing curious, our GPS voice had nothing to say about the matter, instead she obliviously guided us away from the shrine and towards Nashville.

During our time there, she continued to send us in circles (literally: as we were directed through a traffic circle about five times while touring some of the less touristy parts of the city), into some industrial areas, and back again past the Country Music Hall of Fame and Broadway.

Still and all, she was our companion as we learned by navigating the narrow and confusing streets of Music City – while we might have been misdirected, and gotten ourselves lost, she always brought us back home…including on the final leg of our southern journey, when she took us to the airport for the trip home.

She did not care that we were boarding a flight that would take us back to a reality that was waiting to hit us in the face with bad news (a tree about to fall, family illness, financial woes and major changes) she was just doing her job.

While she served us well as we traveled throughout the Mid-South, our GPS did so without much charm.

Relying upon the GPS was just one more way to isolate ourselves…to stay in our nice, air-conditioned cocoon. It almost makes me miss when I was a kid. Back then, a road trip meant piling into the big station wagon, with my brothers, a dog or two, and all the windows open. The wind would blow around the maps, comic books and snack wrappers all over the car, and make it almost impossible to hear each other – though not impossible to fight among ourselves!

Routes were plotted out on maps, and directions ask (grudgingly) of farmers or gas attendants, who gave us colorful descriptions of how to get to where we wanted to me.

It was also a way of making a connection with others that cannot be found via GPS.

That said, whether we get colorful directions from a local person, or from a cheery (almost) GPS voice…hearing those words can always incite a certain sense of adventure and excitement:

“Let’s Go!”