Buying an atlas expands your world. It teaches you new and unexpected things, too, about how the world changes and how quickly.
I like navigating the old way, using a map to find out where I’m going. It allows me to explore the big picture and figure things out on my own. It’s an awesome feeling.
Preparing to move, I recently passed on our ancient (2011) road atlas to our son Kirby, who got my dad’s car after he passed away. Lacking a cover, and with some missing and water-logged pages, I gave it to him solemnly, so he can have it to serve as back-up in his GPS electronic-fueled universe. I hope he is forced to use it at some point, and he is prepared, as I had him navigate for me many times on trips through its pages. He now accesses his smart phone to direct me when I get lost, but what the heck, I tried.
The 2011 version was in need of replacement anyway, as the 2017 version was ready with all those new streets under construction in the United States. The atlas keeps up, just not as quickly as going online or by using Google.
As I cleaned out the back of my car for the trip north, I pulled out battery chargers, a first-aid kid, reusable grocery bags, reading glasses, my 25 favorite CDs, my sports chair and cheering cone. My life as it existed. Underneath, I unearthed two books that contained hundreds of pages in the Dallas-Ft. Worth (DFW) metro area – atlases that were dynamite and necessary 10 years ago, maybe even 5, to find out where you were headed in this massively morphing metropolis.
Now those two books are pretty much useless. Not even I would buy them, which says a lot. The company that prints them might not be out of business if enough older people exist who won’t use a form of electronic navigating, but I can’t imagine that market is large enough for them to continue publishing a paper version.
It was odd pulling these books out and dumping them in the recycling bin. The two copies I had were the second version I’d bought since moving to DFW in 2004. Roads are built so quickly here that the original ones were out-of-date within five years (probably even sooner if we want to look at it realistically), so you had to replace them.
Then, with the onslaught of the Internet, Google and GPS, whammo, they were obsolete. Something previously very necessary disappeared very quickly.
The books sat in the back of my car for several years. I could not remember the last time I opened them. They made me nostalgic. And they were probably only 7-years-old, maybe 8. Obsolescence ratchets up.
Most of our possessions hold long-term value in our lives, or at least we have some fondness for hanging onto them. Clothing should be useful until it wears out, but we often discard shirts, shoes and pants before then. Furniture we typically use until the stuffing pops out. Carpets stay on the floor until it is beat up and the color fades. And so on.
But an atlas is a different animal. You would think it should last forever. It doesn’t. Technology displaced it.
Still, I’m going to use this new one. I will pore over it as I head through Oklahoma, Missouri, Illinois and Wisconsin, looking at rivers, alternative routes and state parks to explore in the future. A new world will emerge, with places to visit that I hadn’t considered. You never know where you’ll end up.
I like navigating the old way, using a map to find out where I’m going. It allows me to explore the big picture and figure things out on my own. It’s an awesome feeling.
Preparing to move, I recently passed on our ancient (2011) road atlas to our son Kirby, who got my dad’s car after he passed away. Lacking a cover, and with some missing and water-logged pages, I gave it to him solemnly, so he can have it to serve as back-up in his GPS electronic-fueled universe. I hope he is forced to use it at some point, and he is prepared, as I had him navigate for me many times on trips through its pages. He now accesses his smart phone to direct me when I get lost, but what the heck, I tried.
The 2011 version was in need of replacement anyway, as the 2017 version was ready with all those new streets under construction in the United States. The atlas keeps up, just not as quickly as going online or by using Google.
As I cleaned out the back of my car for the trip north, I pulled out battery chargers, a first-aid kid, reusable grocery bags, reading glasses, my 25 favorite CDs, my sports chair and cheering cone. My life as it existed. Underneath, I unearthed two books that contained hundreds of pages in the Dallas-Ft. Worth (DFW) metro area – atlases that were dynamite and necessary 10 years ago, maybe even 5, to find out where you were headed in this massively morphing metropolis.
Now those two books are pretty much useless. Not even I would buy them, which says a lot. The company that prints them might not be out of business if enough older people exist who won’t use a form of electronic navigating, but I can’t imagine that market is large enough for them to continue publishing a paper version.
It was odd pulling these books out and dumping them in the recycling bin. The two copies I had were the second version I’d bought since moving to DFW in 2004. Roads are built so quickly here that the original ones were out-of-date within five years (probably even sooner if we want to look at it realistically), so you had to replace them.
Then, with the onslaught of the Internet, Google and GPS, whammo, they were obsolete. Something previously very necessary disappeared very quickly.
The books sat in the back of my car for several years. I could not remember the last time I opened them. They made me nostalgic. And they were probably only 7-years-old, maybe 8. Obsolescence ratchets up.
Most of our possessions hold long-term value in our lives, or at least we have some fondness for hanging onto them. Clothing should be useful until it wears out, but we often discard shirts, shoes and pants before then. Furniture we typically use until the stuffing pops out. Carpets stay on the floor until it is beat up and the color fades. And so on.
But an atlas is a different animal. You would think it should last forever. It doesn’t. Technology displaced it.
Still, I’m going to use this new one. I will pore over it as I head through Oklahoma, Missouri, Illinois and Wisconsin, looking at rivers, alternative routes and state parks to explore in the future. A new world will emerge, with places to visit that I hadn’t considered. You never know where you’ll end up.