Lost on Chigger Ridge

Few things deflate the male ego like getting lost.  Worse, is getting lost with your wife in the passenger's seat.  Worst, is being lost with your wife AFTER you've declined to take her advice.

A couple of months ago, I was doing a story for Horse Talk Magazine.  Part of my research involved visiting a local university's equestrian facility only about 30 miles from home.  I looked up the address, found it on the map and then printed the turn-by-turn directions from MapGuess, er, I mean MapQuest.

As I turned onto a county road just a few miles from the facility, my navigator-in-chief asked if I knew where I was going.  "I got this," I replied with haughty assurance when she offered an alternative route.  I explained that I'd MapGuessed, er, I mean MapQuested the shortest route.  "Relax," I added.  I'm a former paramedic/firefighter.  I can read a map.  Duh.

Her eyebrows went up and she turned away to look out her window while giving me the old you're-full-of-crap-but-I-can't-tell-you-squat, "oooooo-kay."

If you've ever seen the movie Deliverance you probably remember the theme song, Dueling Banjos.  It was right about now that I began to hear some twanging in the background of my brain.  My confidence was shaky and I was on a country road in rural North Carolina.  Que the first banjo.

My last MapGuess-mandated turn before arriving right outside the equestrian facility was onto a quaint country road named Chigger Ridge.  "Quaint country road" is country-speak for not paved.  Halifax County has several legitimate roads, replete with route numbers, mail delivery and everything, yet are only gravel on dirt, so I wasn't overtly alarmed when we hit Chigger Ridge.  However, I did hear the second banjo begin its rift.

We passed several nice farm houses and then entered a stretch of woods.  The gravel got thinner, the potholes bigger and the trees on either side of the narrowing road were plastered with NO TRESPASSING signs.  When we passed a section of "road" that was all but washed out in the last rainstorm I heard two things: my wife snickering and both banjos going full-bore.

A hundred yards later deep in the forest, the dirt path abruptly ended and we found ourselves staring at a big, homemade sign.  I can't remember the exact wording, but the message essentially was: No, this road does NOT go through like it shows on the map. Turn around and leave quickly before you become the next project for my brother-in-law Billy-Bob, the taxidermist.

I did a 12-point turn, squealed like a pig and skee-dattled.  My wife chuckled as her eyes burned "I told you so!" into my temple like lasers.  In all fairness, I wasn't really lost.  I knew exactly where I was and exactly where I wanted to go.  I just couldn't get there from here.

When I turned off Chigger Ridge and headed back to the main road, Leslie provided me with the directions she'd looked up on Rand McNally.  Of course, they were perfect.

I drove on and did my research, despite singed temples, a banjo headache and deflated ego. 

I hate MapQuest.  May the chiggers of a thousand hillbillies infest their corporate headquarters.

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Comments

[Bill Emerson]

Very cute story that brings back several memories. We males have all been there before. Had not read your stuff in awhile and became curious as to your site. What in the world do you know about Horses????? Trust you are doing well.