Recalculating our vacation

Presently we are in the process of choosing a location for our vacation, which like all other social activities must fit in around Joe's class schedule. This schedule leaves a window of approximately 16 minutes the entire summer for trips and other fun.

Now, the ideal vacation spot requires careful consideration. In our case, an ideal vacation is basically defined as anyplace that will not require us to drive over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge.

The Bay Bridge, which consists of two bridges side by side, was designed by engineers with a sincere and twisted desire to reduce drivers to blubbering cowards. Supposedly it is only five miles long, but through some little-known miracle of engineering it stretches as you are driving on it, so that the actual distance is closer to infinity. Instead of having enclosed barriers on the sides, there are simply open railings, which allow you to see the full distance from you to the bay (approximately 900 miles, straight down).

And if the distance and wide-open view are not enough to frighten you, once a day one lane of one bridge is opened to traffic going in the opposite direction, so that you are trapped between vehicles rushing toward you on one side, and the cold, cruel waters of the bay on the other side.

After exiting the toll booth on a recent trip over the bridge, I very astutely observed that my car was approaching the westbound bridge rather than the eastbound bridge, and reluctantly entered the Lane of Doom.

Approached from that side the bridge goes straight up, and you begin to stare so hard at the car in front of you in order to pretend that large vehicles are not driving at light speed inches from you, that you not only memorize that car's license plate but also its every curve and dent. Someday, if you ever make it to the other side of the bridge -- and this is not assured -- you may see this car again, and you will immediately recognize it and go over to the driver and fall at his or her feet, declaring your everlasting thanks and loyalty for having saved your sanity.

Just when you begin to relax a little, and think that maybe, with your eyes glued to that car and humming loudly every comforting hymn you ever learned, you will make it to the other side, you hear a voice. But this voice does not comfort you. This voice is the voice of your GPS, which is having seizures as it attempts to understand why, in the face of the wonderful relationship the two of you have built, you are driving on the wrong bridge. And it attempts to get you off.

It does this by saying repeatedly, "Recalculating. Recalculating. Recalculating. Please drive to the highlighted -- Recalculating. Please drive to the highlighted -- Recalculating."

And you cannot turn the voice off, because your hands have become one with the wheel, and you cannot spare any body part to yank the GPS out. So you settle for making a solemn vow to recalculate the GPS woman into the bay, which has no effect whatsoever on the voice, but which at least gives you something to look forward to should you in fact survive this trip.

And so, you can be sure that our vacation will not take us over this bridge, even if we have to drive 1,643 miles out of our way to avoid it. And even if the GPS woman begins to drone, "Recalculating. Recalculating. Recalculating."