Have you ever trusted a GPS to guide you along the most direct route? How did that work out for you? My husband and I learned an excellent life lesson on our recent vacation: can and should are different concepts. Because a GPS says you can drive somewhere, it doesn’t mean you should.

This year, we vacationed in a mountainous area that tourists did not often frequent. On this particular day, we followed Google Maps’ directions to the most direct route from our village to a highway. I can imagine your snickers because you know that putting blind faith in any GPS has the potential not to end well. It didn’t, but probably not in the way you might expect.

In this case, can and should were very different concepts. In hindsight, that magnificent lens that reveals what decision you should have made, we would have done well to question Google’s recommendation.

The chosen route was a narrow, paved road through a working farm, a fact we only discovered by driving through that farm. On a bend, the barn on one side was mere metres away, and on the other stood the farmer. We now know he was undoubtedly enjoying the entertainment.

The wet road had brown blobs that appeared to be mud trailing across the section from the barn to the area where the farmer and his wagon stood. We thought the “mud” and “water” were from the previous night’s heavy rain. It wasn’t. Foolish tourists. You can see the farmer grinning, can’t you?

As we splashed along the affected section, we became aware of the increasingly potent odour of “fresh country air.” We reached the stop sign at the highway intersection a few minutes later. Away from the farm, hoping we’d outrun the offending odour and anxious to dispel the less-than-delightful aroma that had permeated the car, we rolled down the windows. The unpleasant truth dawned. Manure coated the car’s underside, and the vehicle that once symbolized freedom and adventure now held us hostage in what smelled like a Mobile Latrine. And it would accompany us wherever we went. Sadly, the expectation that the foulness would disappear as we travelled was a fantasy. The manure happily clung to the undercarriage like a stuntman trying to establish a world record.

Our destination was a restaurant in a tiny village at the top of a mountain with a spectacular view. No vehicles were allowed in, which was fortunate for us and the other diners and villagers. We hoped the sweet mountain air and time would return our ride to its former neutral state. Right.

A couple of hours later, the gentle breeze carried the scent of flowers as we approached the waiting offender. Thankfully, all was well. Momentarily. When the engine heated up, the Mobile Latrine was back in business.

The odiferous substance eventually burned off, but it had tainted our delightful jaunt into the mountains. Although we were far away from the polluted air of cities, it made little difference when we travelled in a Mobile Latrine. Forever, the fact that can and should are different concepts will be reinforced in our memories whenever we smell “fresh country air.”

How boring would a vacation be if everything went according to plan?