Recently my two young sons and I spent a Saturday night in Niantic, Connecticut. We needed to be at my uncle’s residence at 1 PM the next afternoon, which as I remembered was located at 45 Austin Drive in Wakefield, Rhode Island. A last-second change in plans left me unable to check Mapquest for exact directions. That was troubling, since it’s been clear for some time that I am navigationally challenged. We departed from our hotel shortly after nine o’clock on a clear, sunny Sunday morning, hoping against hope we wouldn’t be late.
Before leaving I ascertained that we needed to take I-95 north to route 216. Unfortunately the first 216 sign I saw was at the bottom of the ramp off the last exit in Connecticut….. as I drove past it at approximately 65 MPH. Oops! Shaking off that bit of misfortune I calmly took the first Rhode Island exit, looking for any road headed east or north. Five minutes later I fortuitously came to the intersection of Route 216! Unsure of which way to proceed, I trusted my instincts and took a right. Several meandering miles later I arrived at the bottom of the exit I had seen from the highway. I had just spent 20 minutes driving in a circle. Oops!
Ignoring the sight of my boys nodding at one another knowingly in the rear view mirror I cheerfully proceeded north on Route 49, a winding country road that traverses some beautiful rural country. Who knew Rhode Island had so many rolling hills? After several miles I noticed that the road signs looked remarkably similar to the ones I remembered from my youth in Connecticut. Oops! We were still in Connecticut! Pulling over for a peek at my trusty road atlas, I determined I could pick up Route 138 in Voluntown. Yes! Once on it I could proceed across the state to Route 1 south, which would take me into Wakefield.
Unfortunately recent floods had necessitated some detours on Route 138, and apparently I missed a sign or three. Oops! Soon I was driving on another scenic, narrow, sinuous road that took me past a state park, a fish hatchery and all kinds of other places one wouldn’t normally associate with one of America’s most densely populated states. I pulled over and asked a fisherman if I was anywhere near Route 138. He responded with a funny look and “Ahhhhh……no.” I bushwhacked my way to Route 102, which connected to 138 via route 3, but after going about two miles I saw a sign which advised: “Local traffic only; road closed due to flooding.” Oops.
Backtracking to Route 3 I went a goodly distance south before mercifully running into Route 138.
Assuring my nearly-comatose passengers that we were finally on the right road, I confidently motored east past the University of Rhode Island, ultimately and triumphantly merging onto US Route 1 south.
Several minutes later I spied the “Entering Wakefield” sign and enthusiastically pointed it out to the passenger who was still awake. Thankfully he had joined his brother in Dreamland by the time I had passed the “Welcome to Perry” sign. According to the atlas Perry was clearly south of Wakefield. Oops. Turning around yet again I exited Route 1, seeking a place where I could recover my bearings.
The bucolic section of Wakefield I traveled is indescribably lovely, probably because its landscape is completely unblemished by any gas station at which one can ask for directions. Fortunately the volume of my two sons’ snoring was nearly enough to drown out the imaginary sound of my wife’s voice saying “I TOLD you to get a cell phone!”
And then, miracle of miracles…….I passed Austin Drive! Making my 23rd u-turn of the day I exultantly drove up the street, looking for a mailbox with “45” emblazoned on it.
The first mailbox on the right read “111.” The next one had a higher number. Oops.
I drove the length of the road three times and went up two wrong driveways before finally arriving at my destination (# 405, as it turned out) at approximately 12:15 PM.
I subsequently learned that it was precisely 41.1 miles from the hotel where we had stayed to my uncle’s house. My car’s odometer indicated we had driven 93 miles that morning.
Every human being with a pulse is good at something. Even me.
When something on a high shelf in our house needs retrieving, I handle it. If a youth sports team requires an assistant coach, I’m right there. And if you desire a letter of recommendation, I’m your man.
But for the sake of everyone involved, don’t ever ask me for directions.
Andy YoungReturn to main page
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