The road I’m on doesn’t exist on the map, according to the GPS I’m driving on the water. There clearly was a road here some time in the past, as evidenced by the telephone poles along one side. The phone wires long gone, they look kind of forlorn where they stand, all bare a purposeless. Now the road is just a a narrow strip of cracked and broken asphalt stretching out across a large rectangular pond. Weeds and tall grass line the road and poke up through the cracks. Low waves, little more than ripples on the pond’s surface, lap the edges of the asphalt. The ride is bumpy, every now and then I have to slow down to a crawl to avoid hitting a large pot hole too hard, and the weeds keep rubbing against the sides of the car as I go along. It feels like I’m the first person to drive here for many years. The road is long enough that I can’t actually see if it connects to anything at the other end or if it gets swallowed up by the water somewhere up ahead. I really hope that it goes all the way across because it’s so narrow it would be really hard to turn around. The thought that I might have to drive the entire distance in reverse flashes through my mind but I brush it off and press on. A sensible person would never go down a road like this, but there’s something about the dilapidates state of it, as well as the fact that I can’t see where it ends, that imbues the place with a sense of adventure and compels me to steer my car down it, heading towards the unknown.