The Capt, Lucille and Me

I'm sitting in a hotel room in Tucson, all packed and sipping a last cup of coffee, wondering where the Capt is. An hour ago, he went downstairs to organize the car so we can head home after a day of paperwork plus hunting and gathering. How long can it take? From the window, I see him sitting in the car two stories below. The window actually slides open (how often do you find that anymore?) so I call him, and that's when I realize: he's been spending the last hour getting acquainted with Lucille!

Recently he found a GPS unit online, called a GlobalSat Car Navigator, which he bought to navigate our way around the States and Mexico. It takes minutes to install, can be removed and used in another car, and has a dandy screen to be attached to the windshield with a suction cup. (Will it actually suck? I'm wondering, because they never seem reliable, but never mind...)

The driver can follow the instructions on the screen, or if reading while driving is too distracting, he can switch on a voice that issues all those backseat-driver commands usually so resented when issuing from a living breathing human (particularly female). The options are male or female voices in American, British or Spanish styles. Ironically, The Capt has chosen American female voice, explaining that they're easier to understand in noisy traffic. We've named her Lucille.

Too bad. I thought a British male who sounded like Hugh Grant would be rather fun. But I suppose when I'm driving, I can summon Hugh with a few pushes of a button.

Finally we finish loading the car and start for home, the Capt, Lucille and me. She has that same modulated, regionless tone I remember from my first talking car, a Nissan that would only tell us when fuel was low or a door wasn't closed properly. But Lucille is much more informative. At 400 yards, she tell us we're coming to a turn, then again at 100 yards. She even alerts us to keep to the right, or the left depending on which way we'll turn. When we get a little heavy-footed on the gas, she says in exasperation, "You are exceeding the speed limit." If we decide to ignore her directions, she'll say only once, patiently but firmly: "Off route." If we veered off the highway and plunged down an embankment, that's what she'd announce, but of course we wouldn't hear her with all the panic and screaming.

When we get where we're going, there's a discernible triumph in her voice when she declares, "You have reached your destination!"

Lucille isn't very accurately programmed for Mexico. She can direct you to a town, even a fairly small one, but can't show you how to get around once you get there. In Hermosillo, she tried to send us right when the Capt already knew (and the screen also indicated) that we had to go left. If I had been driving alone when this happened, I'd have been tearing my hair.

Still, it's very easy to get lost in Mexico, as I've discovered from reading other expats' blogs, so maybe Lucille will be helpful after all. And I might not have to try to decipher tiny map type while riding bumpy roads, a sure cause of queasiness. I can concentrate on tasks Lucille can't do, such as keeping the Capt hydrated and fed, and rubbing his neck when it's sore from hours of driving. Stomping on my imaginary brake pedal when it seems we're going to ram into the car ahead of us in heavy traffic.

So I needn't worry about being replaced by technology...yet.