Right at midnight on a Wednesday we were making our way across St. Louis on I-64. The goal was to get east of St.Louis before sitting down for the night, or morning. We were almost there, on the portion of the flyway on which I-64, I-70, and who knows what else run together on an elevated and divided portion of road. This section of pavement was particularly rough, more so than perhaps the rest of the St. Louis highway system. I was holding our speed at between 3200 and 3500 RPM and beginning to feel confident we would reach our goal.

Suddenly a movement to my left caught my eye. I looked down to watch my Garmin Zumo GPS tumble out of its mount, bounce off the left side of my tank and drop onto the pavement. My first thought was it was gone. What was I going to do without my trusty Zumo. She told me how fast, where to and how long. My second thought was I could find an exit and double back. No exits presented themselves and I began to consider how long it might take to exit onto surface streets, get back onto the highway headed west, exit onto surface streets and get back onto the flyway to retrace our path. In St. Louis. At midnight. Without my GPS. A second plan began to formulate. It wasn’t necessarily a better plan, just a different plan. Still St. Louis. Still midnight. We were in the right lane when a section of expanded shoulder presented itself on the left. I pressed enough brake pedal to show my lights and turned on my left directional. I was a bit concerned for Lori behind me and whether the three cages behind her would be smart enough to clear the left lane. Not so. They came around on the left. There was an empty space behind those three and I dove across the way in time to catch the shoulder just before it slendered up again to join the flyway. Lori pulled past me coming to a halt just short of the end of the useable shoulder.

“What was that?”

“The GPS.” It sounded better to use that term than to say, “Penelope.” I was pretty sure she was dead.

I pulled the bike onto the sidestand and removed my helmet. “Stay here! Stay here!”

I began running along the left shoulder toward the spot some half mile or more back at which the unit had left. I came to the realization that age, weight and a sedentary lifestyle had taken its toll. I began to walk briskly along the left shoulder toward the spot some half mile, maybe three quarters of a mile back down the road. The expanded shoulder gave way to a ten inch strip separating the driving lane from the concrete barrier. I looked over the barrier. It was a long, long way to the street below. I began to develop some serious regrets that I hadn’t taken a few moments to get the flashlight from my right bag before beginning this trek. I wasn’t going back for it now. Every moment lost diminished the already dim chances of finding the target intact. Traffic was light to moderate, but moving very fast, probably about as fast as I’d been moving when the unit left its mount.

I put my hand on the barrier, about waist high. I speculated whether I could leap onto the barrier if necessary. Once there would have been no doubt, not so long ago. Well, truthfully, maybe ten or fifteen years ago. And what if I missed? What if I didn’t balance well? It was a long, long way to the street below.

There was very little space between the yellow line marking the edge of the left driving lane and the concrete barrier defining the edge of the raised roadway. When traffic approached I’d stop walking and press myself against the barrier with both hands on the top of the concrete wall. I became increasingly aware that I was wearing black boots, slightly worn jeans, and a black riding jacket. And it was very dark. For some reason someone had decided there was no need for street lights along this stretch of the road. I was experiencing some very serious regrets that I hadn’t taken a few moments to retrieve the flashlight from my right bag before beginning this trek.

I was thinking that people must be a little surprised to see someone walking alongside, the left edge of the flyway at midnight if they could see me. Surely they could see me when their headlights fell across my black form. I should’ve gotten that flashlight.

I tried to imagine what I was looking for and how I would know when I saw it. Maybe the unit had slid across a lane and a half and come to rest against the concrete barrier, safe from the traffic which was staying strictly between the yellow lines. I hoped they were staying between the yellow lines. What if I walked right past it? How long before I would turn around? Would I see it on the way back? I could see best in the headlights of traffic but then traffic was light to moderate, about normal, I guessed, for midnight. That was both good and bad. I didn’t like the idea of traffic so close to me, but then I really couldn’t see without it.

At regular intervals rectangles of light shone through the base of the concrete wall. It was shining up through the holes left to allow the water to pour off the raised roadway onto the street far, far below. What if the unit found one of those gaps and slid though falling to the street a long, long way down? Could it survive that fall? Likely not. Would I walk down there to see if it had survived? Not a chance. If it went through a hole it was gone. How would I know? I stopped and looked over the wall. No, I couldn’t see it even if it was down there. How would I know when to turn around? Well I was pretty sure I hadn’t passed an exit after the departure. If I reached an exit I would head back.

I was getting a little weary, but I wanted to get to the goal and get back. I wondered if Lori stayed in the saddle; if she would have the presence of mind to ride away if someone stopped and hassled her? I began to jog when traffic wasn’t approaching and walk briskly when traffic was in sight. I kept scanning the shoulder and the lanes as best I could but saw nothing. Well nothing I was looking for. There’s a lot of metal and debris along the roadway. It’s just as well. There’s not room enough to ride along that shoulder at any reasonable speed.

I caught a glimpse of something in the middle of the left lane. Good. If it was a large enough piece that I could determine the unit was ruined I could turn back. It wasn’t it. It was loose junk from a cage that hadn’t made its way yet to the shoulder.

I could see an exit on the right side, my left, in the distance. This was it then. Soon I could head back. It had been eaten by the night. Maybe it had slipped through one of those little rectangular holes. Maybe it was thoroughly crushed to powder by one of those big trucks. Maybe I just walked past it in the night.

Two cages approached at speed. I slowed to a brisk walk and noticed something in the headlights of the cage in the left lane. There was something lying in the middle of the left lane perhaps eighty yards ahead. I began to jog. As I got closer I could see it was of a size that could be meaningful.

A cage and two eighteen wheeled freighters approached moving quite swiftly. Wow! If one of those had hit it there was no way it could’ve survived. What were the chances? I waited for the cage to clear and then ran out into the lane. It was the right shape, the right size. It was a big piece of it. It seemed to be lying face down. I couldn’t see in the dark anything but silhouettes. When I picked it up I was surprised to find it appeared to be the entire unit, or at least the largest part of it. I hurried to the shoulder. There was traffic approaching and it was, as usual, coming fast. I flattened myself against the concrete barrier and turned the unit over in my hands. It appeared to be all there. I pressed the power button and the screen lit up.

I began to quickly walk back toward where I had left the bike. I had my back to traffic now so I was watching over my shoulder and I would stop and flatten myself against the barrier when traffic got close. I was still wearing black and it was still midnight. I was again regretting that I hadn’t taken a few moments to retrieve that flashlight. Then I remembered I was carrying a lighted object in my hand. I placed the unit in my right hand and held it so the lighted screen was facing back toward the approaching traffic as I swung my arm to and fro. Maybe that would help. I still watched over my shoulder and I still paused to press myself against the barrier as traffic went by.

When I arrived back at the bikes, Lori was still in the saddle.

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah.” I placed it into her mount. I pressed the necessary buttons and selected “Where to?”; “Recently found”; and “Franklin, WV”. She displayed “Calculating” and began to calculate.

“Is it working?”

“She appears to be.”

She was missing the plastic piece that had been over her top side and there was a serious crack on the upper right corner of her face, but her brains were intact and her display was unaffected.

“Let’s go.”

We rolled out onto the flyway and rode just another few miles down the road before stopping for the night, or at least for the rest of the morning.

That’s one tough GPS unit and another late night adventure. It’s the kind of stuff that makes a ride memorable.