A Few Thoughts… On driving tests, profanity and the efficacy of prayer

By Sandy Compton
Reader Columnist

It would be fun to write about the breakup between Donnie and the impolite loudmouth from Georgia, but more well-informed writers have already done so. It’s entertaining, but I’ve decided instead to tell about recent road tests undertaken by myself and my Jeep Compass.

Its name is Jeeper, gained on a road trip last spring, during which it was also road tested, but not to the extent of two recent trips through rough country nearer to home. I was also reminded that using bad, bad words and God’s name in the same sentence doesn’t result in a lightning strike, nor does profanity seem to reduce the efficacy of prayer. 

Jeeper is one of Jeep’s humbler models. I didn’t really like it when I first acquired it. But sometimes, a vehicle grows on you. Even the beater Trailblazer I once had — basically a loose collection of parts ready to fall off (some of which did) — had the heart of a lion. Jeeper does, too. And its parts don’t fall off. 

The first test was crossing Vermillion Pass (elevation 6,030 feet). The last bit before the summit was a half mile of frozen slush and ruts; a stretch of road that inculcated spontaneous verbalized prayer and bad, bad words. In six minutes of terror, I said several times, “God, keep us in the blinking, blanking, goddam ruts!’” (“Blinking” and “blanking are not the words I used.) 

Two days later, I was off to visit a friend at Cedar Lake in northeast Washington. GiGi (Google Girl) lured me into a more extensive trial. GiGi is the voice of Google Maps, a relatively efficient navigation system until it isn’t. When it isn’t, things get — umm — interesting. GiGi promised me several times that a left turn onto the much-desired Meadow Creek Road was just a little farther. She was lying! 

OK. GiGi can’t lie, but she can lead a guy astray, even with the best intentions. I may forgive her, but it will take a while to trust her again. 

I’d asked GiGi to direct me from Ione, Washington, across the mountains between the Pend Oreille and Columbia Rivers to Aladdin Road, which I would follow to Cedar Lake. She suggested a route. I missed a turn because of a missing sign. GiGi dutifully found a new route — without informing me of such. The route she put us on was less a road than a series of driving challenges. 

The “road,” included a section nearly gone to a giant washout, an unbridged stream crossing and a section coinciding with a powerline road (not noted for maintenance or achievable grades). Not only did we have to navigate it uphill, we had to turn and test our mettle downhill. 

I said “God” and a lot of bad, bad words, upslope and down. In both cases, it seemed to help.  

In the middle of all this, I came upon what GiGi said was a legitimate USFS road leading to the intersection described above. It led instead through a logging project where the now snow-covered road was reduced to frozen ruts about as deep as Jeeper can navigate without shining up the oil pan, and a couple slightly deeper. Cussing and clinching of glutei maximi increased in direction proportional to my grip on the steering wheel.

Facing the worst series of muck I’d come to, I told myself, “Just gun it,” and Jeeper slammed on through, only to be stopped 100 yards later by an immovable tree across the road. There were many, many bad words said at that point. And a couple of appeals to one of God’s kids, as in “Jesus Christ! Where the hell am I?” 

I will never travel without a Silky Katana Boy saw again; but, in this case, it may have been for the best. Who knew what challenges lay beyond; how deep the snow and the frozen ruts would be; how many more trees would need to be removed; what other monsters be there?

Without GiGi’s help (cell service had disappeared) I returned to Ione. There, with GiGi’s help — she seemed damned reluctant — I got onto Meadow Creek Road, after which I flew across the hills to Aladdin Road (30 miles per hour seems like jet speed after spending 90 minutes driving less than 10 mph to prevent ripping Jeeper’s transmission out in “the middle of goddamn “blinking” nowhere,” which I accused GiGi several times of leading me into.

All’s well that ends well. That’s what Mr. Shakespeare said. And it ended well, thanks to Jeeper’s abilities — and mine. I seem to be able to pray, cuss and navigate myself out of these sorts of situations. I just wish GiGi wouldn’t get me into them. 

Still, it was Type II fun, something to be grateful for on this Thanksgiving week — thank you, God. And, I’ve concluded that Jeeper is a keeper.

Type I fun is fun while you’re doing it Type II is fun to talk about after surviving it. Type III is just plain not fun. Sandy Compton’s newest book, Alex’s Restaurant, is Type I fun.