Herbie isn’t the only automobile to exhibit sentience. My friend and writing bud Margo Hoornstra is convinced that Majel, my Ford Edge, doesn’t like her. Now Margo is a very likeable lady, yet Majel misbehaves when Margo is aboard. I’ve assured Margo it is mere coincidence.

You see, last year at the Mid-Michigan RWA (MMRWA) Retreat From Harsh Reality, Majel wouldn’t start when we tried to return to Shelbyville after running errands in a nearby town. Fortunately, we were rescued by a knight in shining armor. Majel started up and we got Margo back to the Bay Pointe Inn in time for dinner and for her to receive the MMRWA Angel Award that I managed to keep secret from her.

At Retreat this year, Majel appeared to be behaving like a proper lady. She got us to the Bay Pointe Inn with no difficulty on Friday afternoon, although she took us there on a different route than last year. Majel stayed put in her parking space during the entire weekend, but there was one unusual incident. On Friday night, another chapter member asked me if the burgundy Ford Edge was mine. (Actually, Majel’s color is Bordeaux. I mention that in the event Majel gets wind of this post. She would be very put out if I didn’t post the clarification.) I said yes, the Edge was mine. She informed me that the rear cargo door was up. Oh? I knew I closed it after Margo and I removed all our luggage and other gear when we arrived. Hmmm. I went out, I checked Majel over to make certain nothing was missing, and I dropped the door. I made sure it was down and secure, and then I locked Majel up for the weekend.

After another fabulous Retreat, Margo and I packed our luggage and the additional items we acquired at Retreat in Majel’s cargo area, and we pulled out of the Inn’s parking lot. Oddly, Majel started us out on a different return route to Margo’s place. It became apparent soon enough that the route was unfamiliar. Even though both Margo and I have no sense of direction, we did not panic. Looking back, we realized that this was a mistake. We should have panicked.

We both had iPhones with Maps and other GPS apps. That gave us a false sense of security. Margo got her iPhone out and started up a GPS app to verify Majel’s directions.I believe that’s what pushed Majel’s hood out of joint.

Immediately, Margo’s GPS app disagreed with Majel’s.  Uh-Oh. Were we going the wrong way? Do we go straight or do we turn right? We couldn’t be sure. I was the driver, so I made a command decision. We would follow Majel’s route until we could be certain it wasn’t correct.

After a few minutes, Margo’s iPhone directions agreed with Majel’s. Okay, we thought. We’re going the right way! Yay!

Not so fast. At the next intersection, the GPS apps disagreed once again. This time, we gave Margo’s iPhone app the benefit of the doubt. We didn’t turn onto a major road. We went straight—and the road’s pavement ended not far from the intersection and we were on messy, grimy, dusty dirt. Being second-guessed by another GPS was insult enough for Majel. Having to eat dirt should have made her furious enough to seek revenge. Surprisingly Majel agreed with Margo’s iPhone app from then on.

Margo’s iPhone app took us on a long, drawn out tour of Southwest Michigan’s back roads. We were into an hour or more of driving home from Retreat and had no idea where the blazes we were at any given time. Every turn we were instructed to make was a wrong turn. Every legal U-Turn we were instructed to make was a wrong turn. Majel, the little stinker, agreed to every single one.

Luckily, we had a full tank of gas because we were becoming concerned that our families would never see us again. We had yet to have lunch and we were growing hungry. Fortunately, we had some snack food with us. We scarfed down the snacks that might possibly be our last meal, all the while hoping a Burger King would magically appear.

At last, to our great relief, Margo recognized the name of a road that would get us to her home: Vermontville Highway. From that point on, we ignored both GPS devices.

Once we were no longer dependent on our GPS devices, Margo and I conducted a postmortem of our misadventure. We concluded that the two GPS devices were angry that we consulted more than one of them. They conspired to seek revenge on us by getting us lost and striking fear into our hearts.

If you’re willing to believe as I do that this sort of thing is possible, I’m here to say they made a very thorough job of it.

I name my cars.

Why would an intelligent woman such as moi name her cars, you may ask?  Isn’t that a Stephen King Christine sort of thing? Not necessarily. You see, ever since I saw The Love Bug, that Disney movie about Herbie the Volkswagen Beetle who was sentient in his own mechanical way, I decided to treat my first car with respect and affection—just in case it’s alive—so I gave it a name.

I try to give my cars names that suit them. For example, I once had a Chevy Astro van that I called Van Go-Go. It was a van, it was always on the go hauling kids and groceries, and I loved the play on Vincent’s name. Shameless, I know.

I become very attached to my cars. I bond with them. I hold onto them for a decade or more before being persuaded to upgrade to a newer model. For Macho Guy, the car thrill is gone after a couple of years, and he wants something newer, hotter, faster. I consider myself fortunate that he only feels that way about cars.

A few years ago, when my Jeep Grand Cherokee Ltd topped eleven years old, MG persuaded me to trade Kee-Kee in on a crossover we could pack to the roof with our gear and drive it down to Florida in winter. MG went on reconnaissance first, scoped out the possibilities, and narrowed the choices down to two that fit our budget: a Chevy Equinox and a GMC Terrain. Both vehicles were fine, but neither convinced me to give up Kee-Kee.

MG noticed that I wasn’t turning cartwheels over either of his choices, and it was going to be my car, after all. He asked what I thought of the two. I was non-committal. I just shrugged. He let out a very resigned sigh . . .

MG: There is one other crossover I looked at, but I’m not sure I should show it to you.

ME: Why?

MG: Because I know you’ll want it.

ME: [with ears perked up] Oh?

He was sooooo right. The moment I sat in the driver’s seat, I lusted after the Ford Edge.

SALESLADY: The Edge has digital controls. Its touch screen has four quadrants: navigation, entertainment, climate, and phone. You can pair your phone with the SYNC system, and then receive and make hands free phone calls through the car. Use this button on the steering wheel to interact with the computer to tell it what you want.

ME: [in hushed tones] The car has a computer I can talk to?

She pressed the button to demonstrate, and I heard a harp like tone and then a female voice.

COMPUTER: Say a command.

It spoke! Just like the computer on Star Trek’s Enterprise! I got so excited I almost needed a change of underwear.

ME: [over the moon giddy] This is like piloting the Enterprise shuttlecraft!

MG: [from the back seat] I knew she’d like it. She’d buy a dump truck if it had all these gadgets.

There was never any doubt that we would buy the Ford Edge Ltd with its talking computer, geek girl that I am. The only decision remaining was what I would name my new Edge. That decision was an easy one. I named her after the actress who provided the starship Enterprise’s computer voice.

I call my Edge Majel.