So my wife and I were taking the back roads from Atlanta to Marion, Alabama - about 200 miles - Saturday evening.  Between Clanton and Selma, I checked for a shorter way on the GPS.  Sure enough, there was a way to cut about 15 minutes off my travel time.  Cool beans!

Turned onto a county road and about a half mile later, it turned into a dirt road.  My lovely wife says, "It doesn't look too bad; lets take it."  I love her confidence in me. 

It really wasn't too bad; pretty solid, some rocks and a few washboard and ruts, but pretty navigable.  GPS said it was about three miles long before the next turn.  About a half mile or so (and it had just gotten good and dark) we came down a hill.  At the bottom it looked like a lot of sand had washed onto the road.  No sweat, just ride slower and carefullererer... until the sandy road caved under my back tire and it got pretty squirrelly.  Then PLOOF, the back tire slipped down into the sand and over we go.  I had time to call out about three times that we were going down before we tumped over on the right side.  Thank God for armored jackets and landing in sand.  My wife came out of her seat when we went down and I just rode the bike down.  I like anti-tipovers.

We were fine; I was upset and embarrassed, even though there wasn't a thing I could have done different at that particular time.  We got the bike righted and saw that there was about 30 more yards of sand trap as it began going back up the next hill.  Wife says I should ride it out of the sand and she would follow on foot.  Good idea; I can work better if there is only me to worry about.  About another 20 feet and PLOOF!  I tumped over on my left side when the sand gave way again (equal opportunity for both sets of anti-tipovers, don'tcha know).  No injury; no damage, but the sand was way deeper there and I could only get the bike about halfway up before my feet started sinking deeply in the sand and not allowing me to get a good lift.  Fortunately my wife came over to give some extra oomph and we got it back up.  I rode it out this time, but it was touch and go for a bit.

Hmm.   This ain't good.  I don't know how bad this road is going to be and I KNOW I don't want to turn around and ride through that mess again.  It's another two miles before I'm supposed to turn onto another road and I don't know how many more dirt roads it wants me to go down.  I check the GPS and it says there is another road about a tenth of a mile ahead, up the hill.  The road was pretty rutted here and it was getting hairier to ride, so we decided that I'd ride up to that turn while my wife walked up the hill.  When I got there, I wasn't real thrilled - the road had about a foot and a half of grass growing over it.  It may have been the shortest way out but I had no idea what the conditions were down it.  So when she got up to me, she got back on and we went on a little bit further to an intersection.  Navigation system wanted me to go left to God knows where, but if I turned to the right I could go about three more miles or so and get back to the paved road I had originally been on before I took the "short" cut.  And the road to the right looked more traveled, so we went right.  And I just wanted to get out of there.

Now, picture this - we were wearing leathers, armored coats, gloves, boots, and helmets, and we weren't about to take off our protective gear.  It was about 85 or 90 degrees, in the deep woods with no breeze, and about 95 percent humidity.  Every time my wife got back on the bike, we had to hook up the cord for the intercom.  It was hot and nasty and sweaty.  Her having to trudge up and down hills with a flashlight and my balancing the 900-pound bike on treacherous, rutty, rocky, sandy, steep and hilly terrain made me nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers.  We did a lot of on-again, off-again over the next few miles.  It seemed like that dirt road went on forever.  By the time we FINALLY got out of that mess, I was pouring sweat and beginning to get dizzy from heat exhaustion. 

I have never been so happy to see pavement in my life.

We got back on the paved road and about a half mile later passed the county road again where our misadventure began.  Believe me, I didn't go back down it again!

That short cut that was going to save me 15 minutes ended up costing me nearly two hours, a lot of sweat, pride, and angst.  My wife and I decided that dirt roads at night are not the best things to try when the GPS says go there.

At the time it was not my finest moment, but now it is pretty funny in retrospect, so I composed a song about it to the tune of "Gilligan's Island".

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"Just sit right down and you'll hear a tale; a tale of a fateful trip,

Aboard a Vision Premium Tour that looked like a black starship.

The pilot was a mighty biking man; the passenger brave and sure;

They followed a GPS one night on a shortcut detour (a shortcut detour).

The road turned dirt and really rough; the passenger was tossed;

If not for the anti-tipover bars, the Vision would be lost (the Vision would be lost).

Up hills and down the road went on; it seemed like a country mile;

It was treacherous; it was sandy too;

They were holding on for dear life;

The night drew on; but pavement finally replaced the dirt;

When the shortcut grew long!"