Our plane touched down at Douglas International Airport in Charlotte, North Carolina. My wife, Lorie was pleased with the smooth flight. Thankfully, the two people seated in front of us didn't recline their seats. Our only problem was that we had to place our luggage in an overhead bin that was ten rows behind our seats. Fortunately, a kind man stopped his exit and let me get to the bin and helped me take my suitcases down.

After we deplaned, we pressed our way into a torrent of people, feeling much like two salmon swimming upstream. We needed to find the rental car area. A kindly, travel volunteer told us to, "Walk straight ahead, go down the escalator, walk out the double doors, cross the street, walk into the area that is under construction, turn left at the first opportunity and then walk straight ahead." Then he smiled and said, "You can't miss it."

Happily, we found the area, thanks to the volunteer's directions. However, as we gazed about the cavernous room, we didn't see the rental company logo from which we had reserved a car. We began our trek, checking each logo as we walked. At the far end of the football field room, we saw the blue and orange logo that we sought. My wife and I each blew out a long, slow, breath of relief.

We walked toward a middle-aged agent who appeared busy on her cell phone. She clicked off as we approached. She was a fireplug of a woman, with long, straw, blonde hair, parted down the middle, hippie style. Her Cheshire cat grin welcomed us. I handed her a printout with our reservation number. She typed the number into her computer.

"Yes," she said, "I have your reservation right here," with a Carolina drawl. Although, we had reserved a full size Ford, she said, "I'm so sorry, but the only vehicle ready to go is an SUV. It's a big, beautiful, GMC Yukon."

I knew the Yukon was a monster. "Are you sure," I said. "Nothing else?"

"No, there's a convention in town and most of our cars are out."

"Okay," I said, in a voice tinged with doubt.

The rental agent then tried to sell us unneeded insurance and warned, if we did not return the car full of gas, there would be an eight dollar a gallon charge tacked onto the bill. My wife asked for a map of North Carolina. Ms. Fireplug gave her half-sheet map of the Charlotte and the surrounding area. I told Lorie not to worry that we had our GPS. It would get us to Park Ridge Hospital in Hendersonville to see our daughter who had just undergone an operation.

"Third floor, key's in the vehicle," Ms. Fireplug chanted as we walked toward sliding glass doors leading to the elevators.

As we rode up to the floor above, the nervous bug bit me. That little guy, deep in the recesses of my mind, kept intoning, "You've never driven this type of vehicle. It's big, it's big, it's really big."

I said to Lorie, in an attempt to calm my nerves, "I've input the addresses of both the hotel and the hospital into the GPS, so we should have no problem."

We located the SUV exactly in the space Ms. Fireplug said it would be. It was silver in color, a mammoth of a vehicle, so much larger than I expected. The doors were unlocked, we placed our luggage in the back seat. I opened the driver's door, climbed on to a step, and flung myself into the SUV. I said, "I feel like I climbed into the cab of a semi." My wife agreed as she struggled up onto the front seat.

After I figured out how to start the thing, I carefully backed out of the parking slot. I eased the SUV forward and began my search for the exit. I turned left. Immediately, I knew I had made a mistake because I heard "Stop! Stop! That's the return lane. Back it up," an attendant screamed at me. Panic gripped my heart, my stomach somersaulted. I threw the Yukon into reverse, could not make the turn, moved forward and banged the side view mirror on a post. Luckily, it collapsed against the door, so no damage was done.

At last, we were zipping along on the Billy Graham Highway. I turned on the GPS. The dread words "Searching for Satellites" appeared on the screen. We continued along the highway. I looked down at the GPS. The dreaded words still jumped from the screen.

I said to Lorie, "You think this is the right way? I know we have to head west, but I don't see the sun. I think it's in back of us. Do you see any signs for towns west of Charlotte? Look on the map. "

Lorie scanned the map and said, "It's too small, I can't read it."

"Put on your glasses."

"I have them on. But, I can't see the printing is too small, but I think we're going the wrong way."

As we sped along, I kept glancing down at the GPS. Every time I looked, it still read, "Searching for Satellites."

"We better get off and go the other way," I said, then navigated a turn around. Now we were heading in the opposite direction on the Billy Graham Highway. We passed the Charlotte airport. Suddenly, a female voice shrieked, "Recalculating. Take ramp on right, then turn left, take the down ramp onto Billy Graham Highway." We obeyed and now we were heading in the opposite direction on the Billy Graham Highway. Before long, we saw the Charlotte airport, this time on the opposite side of the SUV. Outside the front windshield, we saw the deep orange sun sinking behind the pine trees. We knew we were heading in the right direction. The satellite girl seemed happy as she told us to drive I-85 toward Hendersonville.