“It’s a road ,” I said. “And we have a spare tire. And it’s three in the afternoon. And I’m tired of the Petrified Forest.”
He smiled. I’d never seen him smile without a reason before. It changed his whole face.
That was the whole point of the trip. My father, a man who still prints MapQuest directions and keeps a Thomas Guide in his glove compartment “just in case the satellites go dark,” had planned every mile of our two-week journey from Seattle to the Grand Canyon and back.
But Dad looked at the map. Then at the road. Then at the gas gauge. For the first time in his entire life, he said something I didn’t expect.
I didn’t have a compass. I didn’t have a GPS signal. All I had was a sunburn and a stupid sense of direction. But I pointed left, and he turned.
“It’s a road ,” I said. “And we have a spare tire. And it’s three in the afternoon. And I’m tired of the Petrified Forest.”
He smiled. I’d never seen him smile without a reason before. It changed his whole face.
That was the whole point of the trip. My father, a man who still prints MapQuest directions and keeps a Thomas Guide in his glove compartment “just in case the satellites go dark,” had planned every mile of our two-week journey from Seattle to the Grand Canyon and back.
But Dad looked at the map. Then at the road. Then at the gas gauge. For the first time in his entire life, he said something I didn’t expect.
I didn’t have a compass. I didn’t have a GPS signal. All I had was a sunburn and a stupid sense of direction. But I pointed left, and he turned.
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