My parents let me use their car and their 1999 era GPS (in...2008?) to take the family on a tour of the Olympic mountains and Mt. Rainer in Washington state. I was about 40, kids are 5-7 or so. My parents told us the GPS voice was named Inga/Ingo depending on the male or female voice. However...The cost to update GPS software wasn’t worth it...Etc. They raised me, I get it. I admit to being ‘thrifty’ at times when I shouldn’t... fortunately, I listen to my wife nowadays.

Back to the issue... We headed to the Olympic mountains towards one of those old WPA resorts. ‘FDR was here!’ Wood paneling, gorgeous old hotel fit for Jack never being a dull boy. It is next to a lake.

About 5 miles before I expect it, “Ingo” starts to become insistent that I turn right towards the logging road ahead. I grew up in Oregon, I don’t mind the off the beaten path places. We start climbing, meandering along a rising ridgelime road that grows narrower and more steep as we climb upwards.

Ingo, ever the calculating type, smoothly and consistently urges us onward, closer to his nefarious goal. I am aware of the tree tops thirty or forty feet to my left crown trees far taller than I want to admit to my increasingly concerned wife. The side of the road disappears, and we slowly crawl forward, and upwards.

I did some mental math and realize we are indeed very close to the lodge - if we had a parachute. This is NOT going to go well. We are already so far up the trail that we are on a 0.9 lane wide road.

When we decide to turn around, there is no room on either side. We are a few steps from the Top Gear / May-with-Machete tightness. Given my wife’s agitas at the time, I may have undergone machete therapy willingly.

I started my slow, careful U-turn and Ingo began incessantly hectoring me. I have no idea why I didn’t unplug that fucker or chuck it out the window, other than having to explain to my tighter than ... anything... parents what I had done. Machete sounds like a win compared to that.

Ingo will not give up: “Keep on the route....” “STAY on the path!” Ingo... I hated that bastich.

I finished the 112 point turn, my wife didn’t cry (much), and w crawled slowly down the mountain, back to the highway. Ingo kept repeating at every possible wide spot ‘Turn back now.’ ‘Return to the route...’

We went all of a couple miles and turned right, took the FLAT road below a towering knife ridge, and made it to the lodge.

To this day, my family somewhat distrusts GPS directions and warns about “Ingo will try to kill you...” The kids willingly learns to read maps, and may even check them before we travel or they drive.