All Roads Lead to Logan

Once upon a time, I worked in downtown Boston. That part of the city was an absolute mess in those days, due to the Big Dig. Streets and sidewalks were relocated on what seemed like a daily basis, which wreaked havoc on traffic patterns, but left pedestrians largely unaffected. I'd power walk from South Station to my building, wearing running shoes with my suit, feeling slightly superior to those poor souls stuck in their cars.

Then I changed jobs and suddenly, I rarely went downtown. The Big Dig hummed along, detours came and went, the Central Artery disappeared and all the exits were renumbered. Big Dig? Big deal, I thought. I never needed to drive downtown, so who cared?

About three years into my downtown-free existence, my sister, who worked in Back Bay, asked me to have dinner with her after work. I jumped into the car, got on the expressway and enjoyed "All Things Considered" on the radio for a little while.

When it came time to get off the highway, however, I was stumped. Which exit was I supposed to take? I didn't remember the road looking like this. Confused, I made my best guess, figuring that bearing left would put me closer to Back Bay, and I didn't want to go to South Boston, so it must have been the right choice.

Imagine my surprise when I realized I was on my way to the airport.

Of course, by the time I knew what had happened, it was too late. Once that tunnel dives into the harbor, there's no turning back. Irritated, I took the terminal tour and paid my toll for the privilege of getting back onto 93. I then spent another half-hour trying to figure out where they put Back Bay – I mean, it was right here five years ago – then finally found parking and made it to dinner. My sister and I had a good laugh over my scenic route to downtown.

A few months later, she got theatre tickets and asked me to join her. Sure, I thought. A night out sounded like fun, and I'd been to the Theatre District many times. Easy-peasy, I thought.

I should have realized I was in for it when John Denver's "Leavin' on a Jet Plane" came on the radio. The exit I used to take by the Boston Herald building wasn't there anymore, and before I knew it, I was making the trip to East Boston again.

My side trips to Logan became family folklore, as there were at least two more accidental airport visits. I started wondering if Massport ran a frequent driver program, and if not, whether they'd consider starting one for me.

I managed to stay away from downtown for a while, but then a friend and I decided to take our kids to the Children's Museum last month. I fearlessly punched the address into my GPS and off we went.

We chatted in the car and the kids sang along with a CD. It was a happy little trip, full of anticipation of a fun morning. Then the GPS sprang to life.

"Take Exit 24…on right…to Government Center," it said.

I looked ahead to where the road split, bearing left and right, with no exit 24 anywhere. Weighing my options, I decided that going left would be the best choice.

"Recalculating," warned the GPS.

Horrified, I looked at the screen, only to see serene fields of blue to either side of the car icon. We were going underwater.

I resisted the urge to scream, and calmly told the kids what had happened.

"But we want to go to the Children's Museum," they wailed in chorus.

"Don't worry, kids, " I said, grimly. "I'm sure there's a Children's Museum in Chicago."

As I write this, I'm mentally preparing myself for yet another trip downtown to meet my sister. I've got two different sets of directions printed and the GPS ready to go. I'm even leaving early enough to allow for my detour to Logan.

Maybe I should find my sister a job in the suburbs.