Hilldweller
SE Expedition Society
“You’re doing it again,” she said. “Arthur didn’t say to turn and you turned right. Where are you going?”
My wife was right. Arthur was right. I was wrong for turning right… But it felt good because there were mountains to the right, dirt roads, trees, and the unknown. It looked interesting to the right; it looked ordinary along the planned route. Sometimes being wrong is the right thing to do.
Arthur is my GPS, by the way. We named him Arthur because he has a British accent and reminds us of Arthur, King of the Britons. Arthur assumes a petulant tone when I don’t follow his commands. As soon as I turned right he said, “recalculating” ---- and he sounded irritated.
I like to irritate Arthur.
“Well,” I said, “I don’t want to go through Calgary. I’d rather go through the mountains. It’s prettier; less traffic.”
“But there’s snow up there.” She pointed to peaks in front of us. “Do you even know how to get through? What if we get lost?”
“Lost is fun!” I replied. “Besides, we don’t have a timetable.”
She settled back in the Jeep’s seat, knowing that I was going the way I was going. Besides, I could tell by the look on her face that she also thought it was prettier this way.
The road continued up up up, the snow got a little deeper, and the pines thickened. The landscape was a complete canvas of snow covered trees and muddy dirt roads, not a home or building anywhere. Our eventual destination was a small/friendly motel in West Glacier, Montana. It was early July and we were on the Canadian side of the border.
My wife was right. Arthur was right. I was wrong for turning right… But it felt good because there were mountains to the right, dirt roads, trees, and the unknown. It looked interesting to the right; it looked ordinary along the planned route. Sometimes being wrong is the right thing to do.
Arthur is my GPS, by the way. We named him Arthur because he has a British accent and reminds us of Arthur, King of the Britons. Arthur assumes a petulant tone when I don’t follow his commands. As soon as I turned right he said, “recalculating” ---- and he sounded irritated.
I like to irritate Arthur.
“Well,” I said, “I don’t want to go through Calgary. I’d rather go through the mountains. It’s prettier; less traffic.”
“But there’s snow up there.” She pointed to peaks in front of us. “Do you even know how to get through? What if we get lost?”
“Lost is fun!” I replied. “Besides, we don’t have a timetable.”
She settled back in the Jeep’s seat, knowing that I was going the way I was going. Besides, I could tell by the look on her face that she also thought it was prettier this way.
The road continued up up up, the snow got a little deeper, and the pines thickened. The landscape was a complete canvas of snow covered trees and muddy dirt roads, not a home or building anywhere. Our eventual destination was a small/friendly motel in West Glacier, Montana. It was early July and we were on the Canadian side of the border.