I swear by GPS, both on my bike and in my cage but I know there are a lot of people out there who wonder why they should fork over their hard earned coin for yet another in an endless stream of electronic gadgets. Much less, going through the trouble of wiring it onto their beautiful wind horse. So it occurred to me that I have a story and others must also have stories, so why not share them with those of our GPS-deficient brethren who are struggling with the idea of which farkle comes next? When I took my last ride to the beach, I was on a deserted stretch of slab toward the eastern side of NC when I realized that I had been riding a LONG time without getting gas. I looked at my GPS, which keeps fuel mileage, and noticed that I had over 230 miles on the current tank. 'Wow! What fantastic mileage I'm getting, can't believe there hasn't been a hiccup prompting me to go to reserve yet... especially since I've been bending the speed limit quite a bit'. So I slid my fingers down the tank bra feeling for the space between the two clips that sits right above the petcock and felt for the lever. Yep, you guessed it, already on reserve. Yours truly had fallen for the oldest trick in the book, the 'fail to switch back from reserve when getting gas' trick. I got a distinctive twinge of fear in my back for just a split second as I considered having to walk 20+ miles in the dark along the highway looking for an exit, which had become quite sparse by now, and hoping that it would even have a gas station... that happened to be open at the late hour I would get there. Then, I rembered that I have a GPS! I just hit 'menu' and did a quick search for fuel. Several stations returned nearby in various directions and I picked the first one, approximately 7 miles away. I'm instantly reassured, knowing how close I am to fuel, and listen intently to the GPS lady's excellent directions. 'In two miles, take exit 173 on the right.'. comes the familiar sing-songy instruction. I take the exit, turn left, ride 2.3 miles, turn right, travel half a mile, turn left, then left again and et voila, gas station. I also picked up a lottery ticket, a soda and some beef jerky. I pay my coffee rental in the little but tidy restroom and hop back on Connie. I MAKE SURE to take my petcock off of reserve, reset my fuel mileage in the GPS and re-select my initial destination of our beach rental house and off I go, disaster averted. Sure, assuming I was close enough to a cell tower I could've called for the highway aid from my insurance provider when the gas ran out, but how long would I have been waiting there... on the side of the road... in the dark? I could've also pulled over, whipped out an atlas or a map and a flashlight and tried the crapshoot of guessing which nearby intersection was most likely to contain a gas station but in the end, I didn't have to do anything like that, because I had spent less than 6 months of insurance premiums on this super handy little device that had just saved my butt from an enormous inconvenience. Needless to say I highly recommend GPS. It's a load off of your own mind to be sure, but add in getting one for your significant other or teenage daughter and they start to look priceless.