Zen of Directional Arrows: Or How Subaru Saved My Ass Again

There Yours Truly was, once again, as is my wont, minding my own business whilst behind the wheel of the latest in a long succession of Subaru vehicles.

This being the red one, the one that was one of only four that the expansive dealership had on the lot that was of the non-automatic variety. The one with the sun/moon roof that YT has opened but once, to let Jabsy up out of it for a woot-woot moment as we sped past the Italian Heritage Festival (all in air-quotes) in the Middling City's northern quadrant.

YT was on assignment for the Shiney Happy Mag, to talk flowers and plants and plannings with a couple who live way up in the hills where one, if so called to mind about this area, thinks ski venues, picturesque farms, occasional mercantile and school buildings that are low and dated, and big distances.

There had been, a few weeks back, a situation that only YT could have found herself in: the confusion between a certain French Road, and a North French Road. Thrown off by a client's mention of a certain landmark, North French was clicked into the map app instead of French: a big twenty mile difference. And there were friends awaiting my post-pixel delivery arrival so there was the added pressure of getting there - and then getting there.

So when the nice couple nestled into the hills south of the Middling City were precise about their directions, that included specific mention of a road and a directional arrow, YT was not going to glance poetically about and not pay attention. Eyes riveted to infrequent signs as they loomed closer, even as someone probably heading to their hillside exurban home after a long day of work tolerating/tailgating the obvious tourist up ahead in the red Subaru, the anticipated sign appeared, and then the afore-emailed big dip in the road.

And then the arrow, as promised, was right there on the left side of the road.

So I turned into what was allegedly the driveway. There were two pairs of ruts and YT followed them along into the center of a field, believing that this was going to lead to a house somewhere up ahead. There were more ruts and YT realized that the car was sinking into what is a snowy, fallow field - just as a light indicating that the Subaru was doing something supersonic to keep me from getting stuck. It was then that I noticed the smell of sheep, really the scent of burning hay from the field. The ruts looped around and YT followed them back to the very dark and quiet road. Thought of how long the AAA wait would have been - perhaps months.

When I got back to the road I followed it further along and saw another directional arrow, and next to that a signpost with the address for the house I was looking for - a very obvious landmark. When I was in the house taking off my coat I told them about nearly getting stuck in the field nearby and then they said Oh, right, that sign is for the snowmobilers, sorry.

Sometimes, and here's Your Big Adage, Know when to trust the directions - and the directional arrows.

Directional Love.