The GPS Blues

I wrote recently about my shortcomings as an RV owner in a post titled, “It’s Not the Tools, It’s the Carpenter;” however, sometimes it IS the tool.  And of course, my sir name being Murphy and all, sometimes it’s both.

Which brings me to my RV’s GPS – which must stand for Goshdarn Piece of S...!  My RAM 2500, of which I’ve written glowingly, did not have an available navigation system that was suitable for RV’s, trucks, or other commercial vehicles. I found this a little strange since owners of heavy duty pickup trucks frequently encounter pesky things like height and weight restrictions – not to mention that a 2500 or 3500 registered in New York State requires commercial plates.

So, being the conscientious RVers that we are, we purchased a GPS that was specifically designed for RVing.  You actually enter the height, weight, length, and width of your vehicles into the GPS and it’s supposed to keep you off roads where you don’t belong – theoretically.  When I tell you that I’ve screamed at this device at the top of my lungs to do something that is anatomically impossible – I’m not exaggerating. When I tell you that I’ve gently cajoled the machine in an effort to get some clear guidance – I’m not exaggerating. When I tell you that my wife took the machine’s side in an argument – I’m not exaggerating. When I tell you that this thing took us down a snowmobile trail – I’m not exaggerating.

The first time I towed the rig (other than training) was when we picked it up in Pennsylvania and took it to it’s storage location in the Catskills.  For some unexplainable reason the GPS took us off Route 17 (major highway and truck route), put me onto a road with low vertical clearance – where I was forced to make my first u-turn, and took me up and down an ice-covered mountain.  When I say mountain – I mean mountain.  It was over a mile up and over a mile down.  At times the pitch was 45 degrees. And it was covered with ice.  The truck screamed while climbing.  I screamed while descending. Even in low gear, the brakes were about on fire by the time I got to the bottom of the mountain.

On a stop-over in Maryland we were buried in snow.  It was around 8 P.M. when the snow finally stopped and we had to leave very early the next morning.  Cleaning off the roof was pretty simple but we had the slides out and I had no way of getting up there to clean them off.  I needed a ladder.  We looked up the address of the nearest Home Depot and I plugged it into the GPS.  Me and snow plows were the only things on the roads.  The GPS got me to the neighborhood of the Home Depot but then the fun started.  “Drive 500 feet and make a U-turn.”  OK.  “Drive 500 feet and make a U-turn.”  “Drive…”  You get the picture.

Anyway, I give up on the GPS, find a poor local digging his car out, and he gives me directions to the Home Depot.  Turns out that the GPS had me driving in a circle past the street I needed to turn down to find the store.  I don’t know why – unless she was ticked off about me cursing her out.  So I pull up in front of the Home Depot.  Just to be clear, I’m looking at the giant sign and I’m about 20 feet from the door.  As I put the truck in park I hear, “Drive 500 feet and make a U-turn.” My reply cannot be printed here.

-Bill