I rarely drive over the bridge. Not that I’m one of those people who can’t, I just prefer to take the bus. Lately though I’d been racking up a list of things to do with the kids around the Waltham area and since I couldn’t use public transportation to accomplish all of them I decided it was time for a road trip. I printed out my directions, marked up my new DeLorme Massachusetts Atlas, and talked a friend into meeting us up there. It all went exceptionally well. The only place I got lost was along the dirt path at Garden in the Woods and that was because I was trying to hurry in order to get us to our lunch destination on time. It was going so well in fact that I took the lead on the way to Bob’s Turkey Farm in Lancaster even though my friend didn’t have directions. We’d discussed them extensively over ice cream at Dairy Joy in Lincoln but unfortunately not extensively enough because my friend, several cars behind on Route 117, got lost. I pressed on, anxious to get my turkey pot pies made from local free-range turkeys. I called on the cell phone and before the connection cut out she indicated she would be there soon. We waited but she didn’t arrive. My toddler played with the keys and activated the car alarm, yet again. She still did not arrive. I called again. She’d driven to the next town. It’s now almost 6PM and Bob’s is going to close. I call again offering to purchase her pies myself and meet her at the farm stand on Route 117 that advertised its own locally grown peaches. Having agreed on this meeting place I hang up the phone, slam the door and instantly hear a beep that can only mean one thing - I’ve locked the keys in the car. The beep was following by a sinking feeling buoyed only by the fact that at least I hadn’t locked my toddler in the car. He and his older brother were both there, standing next to me under darkening skies, in a soon-to-be-deserted parking lot, a bag of goldfish between them. Utterly defeated I head back into the shop. The matronly lady who sold me my pies lets me phone home. Thankfully Ken answers and doesn’t let on that I am an idiot. I give him our address, not bothering to explain what I’m doing at a turkey farm, then I get him to give me my friend’s number so I can call her and explain how she can’t wait leisurely for me at the farm stand. This ended up being irrelevant as she was still driving around lost. Then I remember that I haven’t purchased the second round of turkey pot pies yet. The sales woman is cashing out so I have to be quick about it. Moments later the three of us are standing alone in the parking lot, turkey pot pies on the car roof. I wrangle a few goldfish away from my children. I look up just in time to see my friend’s tell-tale blue Toyota zoom past the farm’s driveway. I hustle the kids out to the road hoping she’s noticed the small, unobtrusive farm sign and might be turning around and heading back but no such luck. The man who lives in the house in front of the store is home though and in a flash he’s got a coat hanger and is headed towards my Subaru. I ask him if he’s Bob. He isn’t. It doesn’t look as if the coat hanger is going to work but there’s barely time to give up when, like the sheriff riding in on his white stallion, the AAA van comes rolling into the parking lot. We’re back in the car by the time my friend finally locates us. There’s a happy reunion, the passing of the pies, and the sharing of snacks. Then my friend takes the lead to get us back to 495 which is entirely appropriate, because after all that driving around, she’s really familiar with the area by now.