Zoologists have yet to discover the homing pigeon's phylogenetic opposite, but when they do, it won't take many DNA tests to prove I am related to that species. There are people who are navigationally challenged, and then there are people like me. The first time I drove a car farther than the local supermarket was to the beach in Connecticut: I went 30 miles in the wrong direction before a highly amused toll booth operator set me straight. That set the tone for my adult life. To me, the Pont Neuf may as well be called the Pont Dix-Huit; nearly every time I set foot on it, I have to turn around and go back the way I came. Once, not many years ago, I was forced to stop at a gas station and ask the way to the house where I was raised.
My life changed completely, though, when the United States military made its network of Global Positioning System satellites available to the public. Suddenly, directions no longer mattered—I could finally drive from one landmark to another without fear of humiliation. Nonetheless, there were limits to my new freedoms. I like to ride a mountain bike through trails and trees as often as possible. And even though I own three compasses and what seem like most of the trail maps printed in the English language, I still spend at least half my time in the woods just hoping I can find my way out.
Until a few weeks ago, that is, when I got hold of the Garmin Edge 305. The Edge is a GPS system for your bicycle that's smaller than most BlackBerrys. The device mounts onto your handlebars, tells you how fast and far you are going, and can lock onto the nearest satellite and track your motion with uncanny accuracy, even through the thickest foliage. The Edge keeps records of your speed by day, month, or year, not to mention your elevation and calories burned. If you are alone and want to race, just program in a virtual opponent. It's like riding with a silent trainer, one who never gets tired or thirsty (or abusive).
The Edge's real purpose, of course, is to prevent you from getting lost. Set your location and then—whenever you feel like it—press a button that drops a little electronic bread crumb onto your route. Watching that blinking dot move along with me is particularly calming. For the truest nerd, the fun doesn't begin till you return home: You can upload data from your ride at motionbased.com, which has its own rudimentary maps. It is also easy to sync up with Google Earth or, for about $12 a month, upgrade to a far more detailed set of guides and maps. And you might learn something surprising: The first time I studied my regular route, I gasped. For three years I had been riding through an abandoned railway tunnel that leads to a field a few miles from where I live. Or so I thought. As it turns out, the field is half a mile from the house.
