It’s positively balmy outside, sunny, with little snow left on the ground. A flannel shirt, with no sweater or jacket is sufficient — it must be in the 40s. Ben started giving me his “what’s that?” bark, so I looked around to see what got his attention. An older model Porsche was snaking its way down our driveway.
My other half was out chopping wood, in his grungiest old clothes reserved for that, and general barn duty. The Porsche driver saw him first, and drove down to the barn and wood pile shed. He stepped out of the car, wearing a pristine Untuckit shirt. Those are unmistakable because of the length and shape of their hemlines. No way was this guy not lost.
He knew he was at the wrong farm, and was looking for directions to one which is now a B&B. He was only about a mile and a half from his destination. Giving him directions was easy. What astonished me most was that he didn’t have a GPS. A car that old wouldn’t have had one built in, with a dashboard display. Still, I would have expected him to have, say, a Garmin, that he could plug into a cigarette lighter/12 volt plug, or a cell phone that could be used as one. Sure, a GPS can be a little off, telling you where to turn, but not by a mile and a half, so it was obvious he didn’t have one.
Luxury cars (and sports cars) are very common around here, but nobody from this area drives somethng as impractical as a Porsche.
We’ve had people turn in here before, not knowing they were lost, asking where they should park for our pick-your-own strawberries. It happens, although their first clue should be that there is no sign out by the road advertising it.
No harm, no foul. Still, it was an interesting way to start a weekend.