Flat Iron Roof

So, I told you about the recent Rickroll I endured.

“Big deal, happens all the time to all kinds of folks. That doesn’t prove the Internet is out to get you.”

No, perhaps not, but the Internet was not satisfied at a simple Rickroll. No, that turned out to be a warning shot across the proverbial bow. The Internet was not done with me. Not by a country mile.

My Martin guitar developed a crack down the top, and needed the attention of a reputable luthier, so I searched the Martin website for someone not too far away, skilled in this particular brand. As luck would have it, there was one a mere 45 minutes away, according to Google maps, that is.

I phoned the fellow and made my appointment. Affable chap.

He’s out in the country, a smaller town than the one that I call home. I printed that Google map of the very direct drive from my house to his shop. After leaving my town, there were just two turns to navigate then I’d be on his road.

With my Martin guitar riding shotgun, I set out.

The first road from my town would be the longest stretch. A familiar road I’ve traveled countless times. I reset my odometer and monitored it closely, looking for that first turn: Flat Iron Roof Road.

Okay, so the name of the road gave me a bit of a chuckle, but this was out in the country. I’ve heard of stranger ones. I drove for about a half hour up a familiar road, until it ascended north beyond my previous explorations, but I had my trusty map, and the odometer clicked off like clockwork.

And, right where it was supposed to be, there was the sign: “FLAT IRON ROOF ROAD.”

Heck, this was easy. And why not? Google maps have always pretty reliable, right? Yes, the road was a bit narrow, no center or edge lines, but nicely paved. And the map said it was just 1.8 miles on this road until I would be on the road that led to my ultimate destination. I mean, really.

What could go wrong?



I turned up Flat Iron Roof Road and started into dense woods.

Wait. Was that banjo music I heard?



To be continued…