Blindly following the directions of my GPS, I found myself at a strange little intersection with a gas station. The GPS indicating that I should go straight onto a dirt road and so I complied. I could tell from the mounded earth on the sides of the road that it was periodically maintained by graders. I suspect some time had passed since the last grader, as my organs vibrated in time with the washboard ridges punching a staccato beat against the tires.
