I had an early morning interview scheduled in an unfamiliar place: Bryan County.
On my screen, it seemed like a straightforward route. Take Victory (80) to Richmond Hill. Make two lefts. The middle school would be located on the left.
The route should have taken close to 35-minutes; instead, it took nearly an hour. Thus, my 7:15 a.m. interview took place somewhere near 8:00 a.m.
How does this happen?
Before my journey, the seeds of doubt began to propagate; my ego said: "You're going to get lost."
And... that's exactly what happened.
When I squinted at the posted sign, it read something to the effect of... now entering the city of Richmond Hill.
Moments later, I read... now leaving the city of Richmond Hill.
Surely, the school would be within the city limits.
What happens next?
I make a u-turn.
Then, I hear a POP from my right exhaust pipe.
I am running out of fuel. I switch over to reserve and find a gas station. While there, I realize how late it is. I call the school to see if I should even bother showing up.
A soothing receptionist's voice -- Wendy's -- melts all my troubles away. She reassures me that folks get lost out there all the time. She tells me to hold on a second. Then, she makes me laugh: "Come on -- you made it this far!"
Nearly one-hour LATE, I waltz into an interview with two administrators. Frazzled with adrenaline pumping I stumble through the candidate -- i.e. me -- questioning. We wrap up in 20-minutes. I shake the two sets of assistant principal hands and apologize again for my embarrassing debacle.
In the visitor's lobby, I thank the receptionist for her kindness. I say Wandy -- because initially, I thought her name was Randy -- but she corrected me on the phone from an "R" to a "W." Later, I realize her name is Wendy which kind of sounds like Wandy when you have a southern drawl.
I exit the school grounds, and I take a different route.
Pretty sure it was 144 West.
The seeds of doubt creep in on me, so I turn around and retrace my steps. I go the way Wendy had suggested -- that route takes me by the high school.
When I find Victory (80), I make a right only to pass -- within a few moments -- that 144 connection.
Needless to say, I know three distinct ways to find that middle school.
As the wheels in my head turn alongside the wheels of my motorcycle, I realize that had I not been lost, I would have run out of gas along a fairly deserted road leading to a very concealed middle school.
My interview was a disaster. However, I did germinate something out of the ordeal: I discovered a new picturesque motorcycle route through rural Georgia.