Be sure you don’t miss …

By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,
Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond.
Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae
On the bonnie, bonnie banks O' Loch Lomond.

O ye'll tak' the high road and I'll tak' the low road,
An' I'll be in Scotland afore ye;
But me and my true love will never meet again
On the bonnie, bonnie banks O' Loch Lomond.
        -- Scotland, circa 1745

Even before I left Merced on this yearlong jaunt, people were trying to take control of my itinerary. Now, 265 days later, I still get travel advice just about every day.

Of course, I’m bringing it on myself because I invite me to have breakfast, lunch or supper with strangers just about every day, and the main topic of discussion is usually my trip.

One observation I’ve made is that people assume that I will be interested in places and activities that interest them. I’m often steered toward opportunities for shopping – an enterprise I detest; and I’m also encouraged to visit upscale neighborhoods to look at the houses – another activity that fails to capture my fancy.

The fact of the matter is that I tend to appreciate rather offbeat phenomena. I can spend an hour watching an individual or team working on some kind of project. I get a kick out of figuring out how things get done.

I do appreciate the advice I get and do act on quite a bit of it. But since running into a few lemons, I’ve become a bit more careful and tend to interview those who make suggestions to determine whether our interests are in synch.

I’ve also noticed that people tend to be true to local visitors and tourism offices. I’ve been urged to take in attractions that are part of local lore – even though the person making the suggestion may actually have never been there her or himself. The local reputation seems to be enough to justify making a recommendation – most towns have kind of a list of landmarks – these sites often decorate the covers of calendars and brochures.


Such local attractions can turn out to be rather disappointing; but they are what the town has to offer. Often, it seems to me that the hype isn’t matched by maintenance or even adequate signage. Such sites suffer from neglect – though their reputation remains unblemished in the eyes of those who haven’t dropped by for years.

So, the advice I’ve received from local residents has resulted in a sort of potluck set of outcomes. I’ve learned to ask follow-up questions and to seek second and third opinions before jumping into the Saturn on what just may turn into a wild goose chase.

People often want to give me detailed driving instructions. But, I’ve become completely dependent on my GPS device. The constant update of my position and reassuring course corrections have removed a considerable amount of stress that has always been part of travel for me. You see, I’m directionally impaired – usually uncertain as to north-south-east-west orientations; and I’m basically lost just about all of the time.

When people start giving me directions, I try to explain that I can’t usually remember anything past “turn left at the second light…” I also mention that I have a GPS device and only need to know the destination – that my onboard digital navigator will plot my course – but they often seem intent on providing turn-by-turn details despite the fact that I can’t remember them and don’t need them.

It’s actually rather entertaining when two well-meaning travel assistants begin to debate each other regarding the best route. I just kick back in these situations and recall how terrible life was in “the olden days” – meaning a year ago – when I didn’t have the GPS.

Actually, travel is a great starting point for interesting discussions. Learning where people have been leads to discussing what they’ve done which tends to uncover a bit of what made them the people that they are.