Just got back from a trip north. The back part was okay. The going part was the usual curse, some of it mine. I have yet to make a trip north without an incident. What's worse is that I'm from the North. Oh, yea, I get it.

This time I didn't get lost in West Virginia which is the equivalent of going to Hell before you've been judged or become dead. I did get lost in North Carolina. I got off the Interstate to get something to eat. The sign said the restaurant was .3 miles to the left. It wasn't.

Stupidly, I asked some guy for directions. As a man, this violated the Men Code and I paid the price. What I heard was, "Gu reet a tree an a helf." My wife, who speaks Southern Gibberish fluently, said we need to go to the right three and a half miles or blocks.

My instincts cried out to go back to the Interstate and try another exit, one where you can see a restaurant from the road. My stomach whined it was hungry now. Since the instinct for survival overcomes all else, the stomach won. Ha!!

After traveling three and a half blocks and miles I quit. Back to the Interstate. Problem. Like much of the South, you can't get there from where you are. Somehow, maybe it's magic, the roads change as soon as you travel on them. The road I took out didn't take me back.

Naturally, I managed to find an alternative route that included two illegal u-turns, cutting across a parking lot, and knocking down four traffic barriers. Got on the Interstate and found a place that I could see from the road.

After eating, I felt a lot better. I felt mellow. I felt all was well with the world. Drove back out to the interstate. It wasn't there. The road didn't go to the Interstate. I just drove it! Nope, it went someplace else. I spent a half an hour getting back on.

I have a new vow: brown bagging.