Confessions of an Addict

The first step toward curing a problem is admitting you have one.

I have a problem. I am an addict. . . and my abused substance of choice is technology. It’s a horrible affliction that wreaks havoc on innocent credit cards.

For most of this honeymoon trip, I’ve been able to escape my illness. In wilderness such as Yellowstone, Glacier, Waterton Lakes, and Banff, stores are sticking with good old-fashioned caveman tech like firewood, knives, and blankets.

Then we arrived in Seattle -- the home of Microsoft, Nintendo, and Amazon -- and I fell off the covered wagon. Even the toilets here are Internet capable! For the past few days, I’ve been constantly exposed to Seattle's technological culture, cruising around town in my sister’s electronics-loaded new car with its lovely . . . GPS navigation system.

Our truck SEEMORE, being a big honkin' workhorse of a vehicle, doesn’t have such fancy gadgets. In fact, its pale green LED dash display has been carefully designed by Ford engineers to be completely illegible. For the past 10,000 miles, our only "navigation system” has been Kristy and a $10 map.

Until now. That smell is melting credit card plastic. Yesterday I surrendered to my basic instincts and bought a "personal travel assistant." This Garmin GPS will, hopefully, guide us home safely. Any device that enhances the safety of RV-ing is probably a good idea. I’ll let you know how we like it.

It’s only a matter of time before our brother-in-law kicks us and our Airstream out of Seattle. Then we’re off to Vancouver!