Like this:

Twenty-three years ago we bought a bush lot along the Rideau Canal in eastern Ontario.  For 23 years we’ve spent our summers and most major holidays at the cottage, through winter, spring, summer and fall.

The only road trips we take are to the cottage.

The route to the cottage is straight forward.  Take the 401 east to Kingston.  At Kingston, drive north on County Road 10.  When you reach Hutchings Side Road, stop!   You’re there.

It doesn’t get any easier.

PAUSE

In June my husband Al and I drove to the cottage for the one thousand, seven hundred and forty-ninth time.  After 23 years, you’d think we’d know the route by heart.  401 east to Kingston.  North on County Road 10.

We’ re driving on the 401, fifteen minutes east of Oshawa.  The car’s in cruise control.  The tunes are cranked and Al says:  “I think we need a GPS.”

I can’t believe my ears.  I look at him and ask:  “Dear, are you lost?”

PAUSE

What provoked Al’s comment was an article he read in the Globe and Mail earlier that week.  It was a story by a woman who reminded him of me, a woman who often lost her way.

The woman’s name is Cathy Grimwood.  It seems Cathy and her sister drove to Ithaca, New York for a family wedding.  Cathy’s husband joined them in Ithaca the next day.  And after the weekend of celebrations, the two sisters returned to Guelph in one car and the husband, Paul, in the other.  Before leaving the hotel, Paul and Cathy issued a challenge to one another:  Who would make it home first?  Apparently, Cathy has been known to make a few wrong turns.

When Paul exited the hotel parking lot, he turned left.  West.

Cathy turned right.

The sisters didn’t have a map or GPS, but they were confident they knew the route home.  After all, this wasn’t their first trip to Ithaca.  They put a Lady Gaga CD in the stereo and cranked up the volume.  They drove for a couple of hours, passed through toll booths, and stopped for snacks.

They couldn’t figure out why Paul said they’d be driving with the sun in their eyes, when they could feel it warming the backs of their necks.

After a couple of hours, the scenery changed dramatically.  Why didn’t they remember driving through mountains on their way to Ithaca?  But then it was raining and visibility was poor.  The sisters had an explanation for every anomaly en route, even the sign pointing to the St. Lawrence Seaway.

PAUSE

Paul called the sisters at the five-hour mark as he drove up the driveway to his home in Guelph.

“Hey, where are you guys?” he asked.

Just then the sisters passed a sign:  Welcome to Massachusetts.

PAUSE

When Al said we needed a GPS, he wasn’t thinking about our weekend rallies to the cottage.  Rather he was thinking about my propensity to get lost.  He was thinking of the time I drove 72 kilometers to meet him for lunch when his office was only 19 kilometers from home.  And then there was the recent experience in England.

My son Patrick and I travelled to England in May.  After a day of touring the Tower of London, Patrick wanted to see the dungeons and I just wanted to rest my weary feet over a leisurely glass of wine and nice dinner.  We parted ways, agreeing to meet after dinner at the home where we were staying in Wimbledon.

I took the underground to Wimbledon and walked to the Crooked Billet, a pub just around the corner from my cousin’s home.  The Crooked Billet was just a three-minute walk from a comfortable bed.

I ordered a traditional Ploughman’s dinner and glass of wine.  After dinner, I paid the bill at the bar and exited the put.  By the time I arrived home, Patrick had already been there than an hour.  And he wondered by I arrived home in a taxi.

I explained:  When I exited the Crooked Billet, just like Cathy Grimwood, I too turned right.

That’s why we need a GPS.

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