YOU KNOW YOU MADE A WRONG TURN WHEN…

How often do we get warnings when we make the wrong turn?

The #oregonstandoff took a wrong turn or two in the past month, but they’re not alone.

How to respond when you learn a wrong turn could be a life saver?

A wrong turn happens on foot, in cars, relationships.

When things go wrong, we find out. Eventually.

Wouldn’t it be nice to have a warning, a signal, before something preventable happens and the consequences line up to take their shot?

For example, I drove a rental car in Spain during the Barcelona marathon.

The map, and my amateur cartographer/wife, made compete sense.

Take this road, turn this way, take that street. Then…

Wrong Turn #1

It started out with a taxi from an apartment in the Jewish Quarter to the train station and car rental office.

I memorized the twenty minute ride so I’d just reverse it on the way back.

Except I didn’t have the right ID when I got there.

Passports needed for car rental? It was back to the apartment, then back to the car rental.

Since the Barcelona Marathon had started, the streets on the way back were blocked.

That’s where no map worked. I drove by instinct and ended up on a pedestrian street where a few nice Spanish policeman started barking.

Not speaking Spanish, I figured they were saying, “Turn around and get the hell off this road you moron American.”

Did I mention all three cops were dressed in black battle rattle with slung machine guns? Looked like a small SWAT team.

They pointed, I pointed, and I got away from a wrong turn that could only go worse the longer I stayed.

If my rights were violated, I didn’t stick around for discussion.

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Wrong Turn #2

When you move to a new town it’s natural to take a good look around.

That’s what I did after moving to NYC, walk the city and check it out.

The place feels like a big architectural museum. It’s old and new and everything in between.

One day on an aimless cruise after work I walked and walked and felt full of the amazing New York.

The longer I walked, the fewer people I saw. Wait, few people in over-crowded New York.

Eventually the sidewalks were empty.

I turned the corner at the end of a block and a policeman blocked the way.

“How did you get here?” he asked.

Since it was a NYC cop I dispensed with the smart aleck routine of, “I just flew in,” or, “I was born here.”

I told the officer my route, where I turned, where I started.

“Okay. You got in just before the barricades went up.”

Barricades?

“Look around the corner. Two blocks away. See the suitcase in the road? We’re blocked off for the bomb squad.”

Say no more, Blue. I told him where I was headed and he gave me directions.

A wrong turn became a right turn, then a left, on the hop.

Was my freedom impeded? Probably, but who sticks around a bomb squad job if you don’t have to?

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One more wrong turn.

Driving in foreign countries with foreign language traffic signs is a welcome challenge. For some. If you like to think of yourself as a world citizen, drive the world.

Then drive England.

The signs are weird from both sides of the street, and you’ll be driving on the left with everyone else.

That you come from the civilized world of right lane driving doesn’t matter in Great Britain.

There I was with wife and kids in the rental, headed for the beach, or the rocky coast they call beach.

I passed by an impressive road block bar that was raised, like a train crossing barrier, only bigger.

With forest on both sides of the road like the Van Duzer Corridor, it felt just like Oregon.

Windows down and rolling through the olde country didn’t get any better. There were a few sections with trees down.

Then I heard something overhead. Must be an airport nearby?

All through the woods I kept hearing the same thing.

Coming out or the forest I found myself up against another roadblock with a couple of armed guards in uniform ready for business.

“How did you get in here?” one guard asked.

I showed him my map.

“I see. You must have come in just before the road closed.”

They’d closed the road for scheduled artillery practice where they lobbed shells overhead that landed a few miles away.

“You’re having a lucky day. Now and then we do live rounds. Did you notice gaps in the tree line? We’ve had a few mishaps. Nothing major, but if one of those shells found you it would’ve turned you into canned beef served in a Vauxhall.”

Vauxhall was the make of the rental car. I asked for directions and left.

Were my rights violated, or was I in violation?

We all make wrong turns. All day long. Then we make right turns.

If you need a little help on which way to turn, ask for help.

Military people in field gear carrying machine guns turn out to be very helpful if you make a wrong turn.

Follow their directions, proceed immediately, and sing your song.