Friday Night in Christiansburg - Damn GPS - Day 3.

Friday afternoon, after visiting Monticello, we leave Charlottesville via 64W (6 miles of which we've already traversed, if you recall) heading back to the Skyline Drive. We hit the junction of the Southern most entry of Skyline Drive and the northernmost terminus of the Blue Ridge Parkway- Rockfish Gap. We decide to take a leisurely tour south down the Parkway and discuss possible destinations. We agree on Mabry Mill in Meadows of Dan for our next stop. Meadows of Dan ... Doesn't that sound like a lovely place? Very Edenesque. After a few hours on the Parkway, we've had enough overlooks already. We're tired of driving 35-45 mph, getting behind people in RV's towing their cars behind them, and other people driving 25 mph or less, constantly braking, and the ones from states where the roads are all apparently straight as arrows. I key Meadows of Dan into the Garmin. The GPS wants us off of the Parkway altogether and we're ready to get off. It sends us on a parallel road - Highway 81S. Mr. Hawthorne is becoming increasingly confused. I'm following on paper (Maps are wonderful things.) I figure out what the GPS is doing and I am correct. It's doing what I would do: take us off the 35 MPH Parkway, send us on a pretty much parallel 81S, then a turn in 28 miles, putting us on 8S for a while, then back on the Parkway to Mabry Mill. We get to Christiansburg where the Highway 8 turnoff is. Mr. Hawthorne wants to stop here for the night since he knows we can't get a motel anywhere around Mabry Mill, which is in his neck of the woods, so to speak, kind of in the middle of nowhere. So, we're spending the night in Christiansburg. I hit Accomodations on the GPS, find a Quality Inn, and off we go. I look at the screen and it says we are 1 minute away. (??) We're on 81 S and are directed to go 10 miles south for our turn. 9.5 miles later Ms. Garmin instructs us, "In point 5 miles, bear right." "In point 2 miles, bear right." "In point 1 miles, bear right." "Bear right." Now we're on 81 N. "In 9 miles, turn right" And the arrival time, instead of the original 1 minute, is now 29 minutes. WHAAAA???? Mr. Hawthorne blames me for accessing the GPS directions AFTER we'd already PASSED the Quality Inn. Tempers are heating up. After 3 miles into the 9 miles, I notice the damn Quality Inn on the right just off the highway. I mention to Mr. Hawthorne that he just passed the Quality Inn. (The Garmin did instruct him to turn right, in its defense, but he just bore to the right. It was admittedly confusing.) That was pretty much it for Mr. H. He slammed on the brakes, pulled off the side of the road, opened his door, and stomped over to my side. "Would you like for me to drive," I asked politely. I really couldn't tell what he was mumbling, but steam appeared to be coming out of his ears and his face was a dangerous shade of red. I took over the driving and about 2 miles down the road on 81N, guess what I saw. One of those crossover roads with a sign saying: "Authorized personnel only." I gave myself authorization to use this, accessed 81S, and continued 2 minutes to "Destination point." We get to the front desk and ask for ground level, 2 doubles, no smoking. "Sorry, this is Radford Parents Weekend and we only have one room left." It's 2 doubles, 2nd floor, smoking. Erika, the check-in clerk, offers us the key card to check out the room and see if it's OK, saying she'll hold it for us. We proceed to the room, find it does not smell like the bottom of an ashtray, and Mr. Hawthorne calls Erika to say we'll take it. I head back to the front desk to pay, while Mr. H. lies on the bed, remote control in hand, finding the first movie he can. There are two desk clerks: wonderful, efficient Erika, and Doofus. Erika takes my credit card, gives me a $10 AARP discount without even asking (Thanks, dear.), and Doofus spends his time checking in a rather harried lady who's been to every hotel in Christiansburg and can't find a room. Then Doofus goes to pick up a room 262 key card for the poor woman, when Erika screams at him, "I DON'T THINK SO!" And she grabs the card from him. Yes, that was my card 262. Erika: "Don't you remember I just told you I sent this lady up to check on the room and I was holding it for her?" Doofus: "No, you know I don't hear anything you say when I'm on the computer. You KNOW I'm ADD." Erika: Sighs and rolls eyes. Rosie: "Hmmm, Erika, maybe you should just slap him upside the head to get his attention before you try to give him directions." Erika is seriously considering this and says something to Doofus about multitasking. Then Doofus looks at me and says, "Well, maybe I don't want you staying here if you're gonna be like that. I don't think I like you." Then Erika comes back with, "She's getting the room and I like her just fine! Just pay attention next time." Thanks Erika. So, I go up to my room 262, laden down with 2 camera bags, laptop bag, 3 other bags, my maps, my legal pads and make a mental note to bring Febreeze with me next time I travel. I try to get into the room, but my key card doesn't work. Mr. H. finally gets up to open the door. I think he must have waited for a commercial break. I get settled in, turn on my laptap, and I only have 2 bars. This is the second motel in a row where I haven't been able to get any internet. I so wanted to upload my pictures and not get behind on my blogging but that was not meant to be. I call the lobby, ask for Erika, explain my internet problem, and she tells me, "Oh, I'm so sorry, but I'm not a computer person and can't help you, but you're welcome to come down to the lobby and get access here." Yeah, Erika. I'll be right down in my fluffy, fuzzy bunny slippers with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and plop my ass down in the middle of the lobby and upload pictures to blogger for the next 8 hours. Thanks. We decide to go to dinner. I hit Food on the Garmin and it regurgitates about 20 area restaurants. Mr. H.: "So where do you wanna go?" Rosie: "I dunno. How 'bout Hunan?" Mr. H.: "That's Chinese. We just had Chinese for lunch." Rosie: "No we didn't. That was Thai-Mex." Mr. H.: "Same thing." Rosie: "On what planet?" Mr. H.: "Well, pick one." Rosie: "Like hell. I ain't pickin' no stinkin' restaurant. I'm closing my eyes. You pick. Don't tell me. I'll just listen to that Garmin bitch tell me where to go and I'll pretend to be happily surprised and just shut my mouth whenever we get to whatever crap-hole you pick." Mr. Hawthorne picks a place unbeknownst to me, and I'm driving and listening to directions. It's only "point 4 miles" down the road where I'm supposed to "turn left." I go "point 4 miles" and "turn left." Into an empty lot. The restaurant is non-existent. We curse a bit. So, I get back out on the road, going in the same direction, and tell Mr. H. to enter a restaurant - again- in the Garmin. He looks at the options and all the directional arrows are pointing backwards. He tells me to turn around. I do so. He picks another restaurant. The Garmin says, "Go 9 miles and make a U-turn." HUHHH???? He picks another restaurant. Ahh... This one is only in "point 3 miles." We travel "point 3 miles" and the restaurant, supposedly on the right, IS NOT THERE. I turn back around, we pass a Ruby Tuesday, and finally eat. I hate GPS sometimes. I find it amazing we've gotten as far as we have.