A matter of perspective

Last Sunday was Mothers Day, and a Sunday. I don't know if that always lines up, but I suppose it does. We had planned on going up to my parents farm after church and visiting for a bit. This happened, and then that happened, and then it was sort of late, and my frustration level was up two or three notches above too much coffee. We finally got on the road, and I drove too fast. I like to drive fast, and always have. I do not know of many thrills in this life that compare. Being older, and having my wife along, and not having my radar detector, I chose to moderate this proclivity. Some. I did let her stretch out her legs on the interstate, and made the horses talk to me a couple of times. Once off of the four lane after Carthage, and heading north on a very straight road I know so very well, I just went a little fast. I remembered, and recalled, days of a hot rod Lincoln on that road, and coming down from 100+ at the first tree line to keep from bottoming out the shocks as the road fell away, and then back up for a bit, and then down for a hard left turn. Mostly my imagination this day. But as I made the hard left, my wife said the GPS says I should go to the right. Now I knew in my heart that this is just wrong. I have been this way many times. But That GPS has proven my facts wrong before, so a hard brake, and back to the intersection and on through to what would have been a right at the hard left. My wife says you just passed the road. I say: "That was a dirt road", we can't take it, I will parallel it at the next blacktop. We do, and sure enough tractors and implements that take up the whole road keep appearing. I try to make up time by going just above uncomfortable. More implements and hard stops. Suddenly we are on the gravel, and I am believing this is shorter, but not faster. Up over a rise, and we are on a dirt road with ruts so deep that if a wheel were to go in, we would be high centered, and stuck there, and probably be broken, until a large truck came to pull us out while the hillbillies laughed. Having grown up where roads are often bad, I made it about a mile down this road (being shorter) to an impasse, where a tree had fallen across the road, and the GPS said I only had a thousand yards to go to the highway. I considered going to the field to go around, but thought better of it, and turned back. Once again through the ruts big enough to take a proper bath in. Back onto the blacktop, and south. (remember I had wanted to go north) and just considered it a bad deal. When we got back to the wrong town, and got back on the road, and came to where the road actually came out, I found I had made the right move. The ruts on that last hill down to the highway were monstrous, and would have required a four wheel drive big big truck to negotiate.I think I should rely on my instincts more. I have become dependent on this tech stuff. Oddly enough, my mood was much better than it had been in days. My wife noticed and asked why. After some thought, I decided that it had been a bad plan, but well played. Sort of an adventure. We overcame obstacles, and made the goal. The only thing that could have improved it at all would have been a cop on my tail.