by Jim Whitehouse
“Which way?” I holler back to Dr. Routemeister as we approach an intersection on our bicycles.
“Turn right!” he hollers from behind.
Two miles later, we are approaching another corner, and as usual this time he out in front of me. Thanks goodness. I don’t have to ask which way to turn.
Dr. Routemeister and I have ridden together over 25,000 miles over lots of years. Most of those miles have been on the same roads, taking the same routes.
He is a kind man. He never says, “We’ve ridden this way hundreds of times. How could you not know which way to turn?”
There’s a good reason. I never know where I am, let alone where I’m going.
After finishing our ride, I call my sister.
“Susie, I am the worst navigator in the world,” I say. “I do very well with a map and a compass, or with GPS, but without? It’s just embarrassing.”
“I’m the same way, and so is brother Bill,” she says.
“Do you think it is hereditary?” I ask.
“I doubt it. I don’t remember Dad or Mom ever having problems,” she says. “Granddad Whitehouse, though—he didn’t drive. Maybe it was because he was always lost.”
I tell her about another of my biking friends, Dr. Ciderman.
“Ciderman remembers every twist and turn, every house, every tree, every fence post—he’s amazing. I’ll ask him what’s over the next hill on a road we haven’t been on for 10 years, and he’ll tell me there’s a green house with a white roof and a red barn on the west side. And that there’ll be a German Shepherd dog waiting to chase us.”
“Is he always right?” says Susie.
“Always, unless the dog ran away.”
“Wow.”
“Yes. Wow indeed. I wish I was better at it. Every time I have a bad dream, it features me trying to find a particular place. A hotel room. A classroom. A business or home. My own home. Anything. I never know how to get there and I never do get there. I wake up, lost.”
“Perhaps you should quit sleeping,” says Susie.
“The other day, I went to a store to buy birdseed. I just planned to dash in and dash out. I’ve been shopping there for years and know where everything is located. But, this time, they had moved everything around. Even the checkout area was on the wrong side of the store. Instead of walking right to the bird seed aisle, I found myself in the work-glove area,” I say.
“Did you have to ask where to find the birdseed?” asks Susie.
“No, I just wandered around for 10 minutes looking for it. I ended up buying three fenceposts, a pair of gloves, and a wrench.”
“And birdseed?”
“I forgot to get it. I had to go back and ask where to find it.”
“That’s why I never go shopping alone,” says Susie. “Mike never gets lost.”
That’s true. Her husband Mike is a great navigator. Come to think of it, my beloved wife Marsha is pretty good too.
She’s a landmark person who only knows the names of five roads but knows that there’s a crooked light pole on the next corner.
I do most of the driving when Marsha and I are traveling. Our conversations are interesting because nearly every sentence I utter is punctuated by “Which way?” Every sentence she utters features “Turn left just past the blue house”.
I guess I’m just stuck with being me but I sure wish I could find myself without a map.
