Roundabout routing
The other roads aren’t any longer. Especially when the original road isn’t, any longer. Let me explain.
We were off to the country for a family afternoon, but the road we’ve taken for more than a quarter of a century is closed to traffic. Something about the rocks from the hillside above falling down and endangering public safety. My own suspicion is that the mine on the downhill side has eaten the edge, but I’m not allowed to go and check. The highway elves had marked an alternate road, off to the right and then up and down and all around for the next 20 km. New territory, so I didn’t complain.
We enjoyed our afternoon. It was, after all, in our honour. After the session of accolades, we watched a brace of retrievers do their drill, with a joy that few humans ever match. It takes a high level of interest to jump into a frigid lake to rescue a styrofoam buoy wearing wings. After each return, the mandatory “shake every muscle and ligament until dry”, and then do it all over again.
Homeward bound, I wanted to see the other side of the mountain, so we took an alternate alternate route. Double word score. This time, an approach to town via a large lake that had been on my map but never seen. And the obvious question, since we hadn’t bothered with the GPS: “Which way was longer?”
First, a stop at McDo for provisions (and a lesson in regional genealogy by the neighbour one booth over). After a few minutes with my preferred measurement site, we learned that there was no significant difference in the length of either detour, and that the original route was less than 3 km shorter. Insignificant.
