I have technology to thank for everything I learned on the way to Erie, Pennsylvania.
Specifically, I owe an incompetence with gadgets for the life lessons thrust upon me that day.
Were they lessons—or just languages?
It all started back in January 2026 when the wife insisted that my perfectly functional iPhone 8 needed to go.
The result was a sparkling iPhone 17 Pro.
Well, that, and the realization that nothing worked anymore.
I had to deal with the whole Wi-Fi thing, fiddle with some authenticator app, and handle a bunch of other stuff that used to be on autopilot.
So when it came to linking the new phone to my wife’s car, I opted out—no Bluetooth, no Apple CarPlay, no nothing.
The only problem was that on April 22, 2026, the wife’s car was the one I took to Erie. That meant that as I drove from Rochester, New York, to northwest Pennsylvania along the southern rim of two Great Lakes, I went back in time.
The 162-mile trip, by choice, took place without GPS. It was just me, the highway signs, and a few educated guesses.
Then there was the radio.
I had to remind myself about something called FM.
And as I kept driving, I even started to dabble in a touch of AM.
That’s when weird things started to happen.
By random chance, I landed on 860 AM.
BON SOIR, MADELEINE. QUELLE EST VOTRE EXPÉRIENCE?
Those damn Canadians and their weird languages, I thought.
I drove on and flipped over to 100.7 FM.
CHAKKE MEIN CHAKKA CHAKKE PE GAADI.
Jesus. These Indians are everywhere—you can’t get away from them.
The only way out of the conundrum was to keep moving forward. The further I got from Canada—and the closer I got to Erie—the less I would have to deal with all the cultural nonsense.
I knew I could count on Erie—where the Snow Belt meets the Rust Belt meets Appalachia—for some damn English.
And English it was as I approached the small city, noting beat-up properties, severe poverty, lots of cigarettes, and some sort of state park on Lake Erie.
The visit, as you must know by now, was inspired by a desire to continue growing my book series on Great Lakes cities, the one in which I take objectively depressed places and make them seem much better than they are.
But as I was on my own that day, I could fully embrace the fraudulent nature of the activity. As such, when I felt a sudden urge to escape Erie for civilization, I didn’t resist. (You know you’re in trouble when that means Buffalo.)
Such began the reverse trip, again without GPS, and again with a mix of AM and FM.
I managed to stay away from the annoying foreign languages for a while, keeping everything I learned in the only language that anyone actually understands.
But as I got closer to home, I let my guard down and stopped paying attention.
Before I knew what I had done, I was greeted with 97.5 FM.
ROCHESTER! SÚBELE! SÚBELE!
Freaking Spanish, I thought.
Estos puertorriqueños deben regresar a su pais. N’est-ce pas? Haan bilkul.
One Response
Blame the biblical Tower of Babel for all these damn languages….😀
Another Home Run Amol…
I’m planning 2 sta stuck on lucky 13…Congrats on Movin’ On Up..as The Jefferson’s did….🙏🏾👍🏽