Connected!

 

Everything is just a tap away. It doesn’t matter where we live; distances fade, and it feels like the world has shrunk, with everyone just a call away, perhaps a ping away. We’ve literally brought the world into our palms. It’s like an old Indian witch who could see events by rubbing thick black ink over a betel leaf or using a magic mirror to reflect the prompts. There’s no doubt she was indeed a visionary who saw what the world would become later.

Smartphones have become inevitable, like an electronic organ of our body that we cannot live without. Soon, they will be stitched to our bodies, much like how pets are implanted with chips. If we don’t have such a device, we’re considered uncivilized in today’s society. People even judge us by the type or model of phone we use. On many occasions, we need a simple text code to verify our own identity. Without such a device, there’s no way to prove who we are. No device means there’s no way to trace us—better put, it’s simply our lifeline.

Once, I went on a bicycle trip with three of my friends through some remote areas in Ohio. We were riding from Cleveland en route to Washington DC. One of our friends had already bailed out on the third day due to a sore knee. He wanted to take a break but planned to join us in Pittsburgh. So, the other two friends and I stayed on course to continue the ride. The route was covered with mountains, rivers, and dense, wooded, remote towns. We managed to ride through trails, roads, and streets, basically at the mercy of whatever our app directed us to. There was no need to keep paper maps clipped to our handlebars or use old-school techniques. We had the trail maps app installed, which navigated us precisely. All parts of the ride were incredibly beautiful—valleys, rivers, streams, bridges, and greenery everywhere. Since the area was so remote, there was no other traffic at all. The roads were completely empty, and we rarely noticed any motor traffic. As we biked, we followed each other in a line, like relay racers, but maintaining a safe distance so we could see each other. We stopped at many spots, wherever we liked, to take pictures or take a break. We were so connected with friends and family. We posted updates instantly and shared our joy with everyone. It was so much fun. My friend had a powerful bluetooth speaker, and we streamed our favorite music loudly—thanks to the sky and the internet, we were connected in every aspect—and enjoyed every bit of the ride with no regrets. But the ride was fully mixed with uphills and downhills. Riding with our belongings tied to the bike’s back rack and a backpack on our shoulders was an added challenge. When we faced an uphill, it was literally a ride in 1-1 gears, crawling like a snail. As we pedaled, we could almost see the ants and all sorts of micro-species crawling on the ground—our pace was that slow. I’d even say they were moving faster than our bikes. My friends teased me by calling me “1-1” since I was really good at maneuvering the bike in low gears.

At one point, we encountered a monumental uphill. I happened to lead the pack steadily with my 1-1 skills, while my friends trailed behind me. I reached the top first, relaxed for a bit, and started taking pictures. It was a beautiful view—green everywhere, a visual treat for our tiring eyes that had been seeing nothing but the ground for more than thirty minutes. The emptiness on top of the hill was accompanied by a nice breeze. I felt it hitting my face, almost like a high five, wrapping around me and making me feel good, a reward for reaching the top.

I could see my friends were still pedaling slowly up the hill. Although I could see them, I knew it would take another ten to fifteen minutes before they could reach the top because the hill was so steep. Typically, all uphill rides are rewarded with an instant, truly enjoyable downhill. That’s the real reward any biker can get at the end. Biking downhill makes anyone feel like they’re literally flying. I couldn’t resist the downhill, so I waved at my friends and hand-signaled that I would wait at the bottom of the hill. As soon as they acknowledged, I put my bike to work. It was like melting ice cream on a hot sun. No effort was needed. I just pedaled a little to keep the bike balanced. I felt so light. No effort was put in—all the weight I was carrying on my back didn’t matter at all.

When I reached near the bottom, the road split into two ways, but I stayed on course, relying on my map. The main road curved a bit, and I found a shady spot at the bottom. I stopped my bike, treated myself to some snacks, and waited for my friends. I thought about catching up on messages on my phone, but I noticed that my phone’s signal was completely dead—no bars, just "SOS" displayed on the screen. I moved around a bit to see if I could pick up any signal. I did get a spotty signal, but it wasn’t good enough to stream messages. My battery was also halfway down. I felt content for a moment, knowing I could wait there for my friends before continuing. I reminded myself that we should stick together afterward. So, I waited…and waited…and waited. Time passed, and more than 20 minutes had gone by. There was no sign of them. I was even tempted to go back and check, but I didn’t want to lose my reference point for them.

But no luck. I decided to call them. So, I moved around a few feet, trying to get a better signal. After some “dancing” moves across the road, here and there, I eventually managed to connect with them. It was a very rough connection, and I could barely make out what they were telling me. They had taken the other road at the split because their navigation had suggested so. They had already ridden a good distance—three to four miles—on the other route. Before I could communicate further to know their whereabouts, my connection was completely lost. Since then, all my attempts were in vain, with no connection. My repeated attempts to load the trail map wasn’t refreshing either. I haven’t had such a bad luck in my life that I could think of. 

I didn’t know what to do. I was so worried, wondering what kind of world we were living in. I thought technology was everywhere, covering every bit of the land, and that we were all connected. I felt it was a myth that the world had literally shrunk, and everything was at our palms. I realized that wasn’t the case. Technology couldn’t provide 100% coverage of the Earth. There are still places left to uncover, and I was stranded in one of them.

What a fool I was! I blindly believed the invisible waves surrounding me would guide me forever, but they weren’t there when I needed them the most. I got so mad at myself. I had prepared for all kinds of emergency situations caused by mechanical failures—spare tubes, a repair kit, batteries, a flashlight, an emergency medical kit—but I never thought about technology failures. I had literally lost my reference, except I knew I had to stay on that road. I didn’t know anything else. I was clueless.

I looked around—there were no signs of anything nearby. No houses, no traffic, and no sign of any humans. I debated with myself—should I go back to catch them on their route? Would they wait for me, or would they keep moving? Was it worth chasing them down? Several questions flooded my mind. All the joy I had felt over the past three days now seemed like a distant memory. I realized the importance of old-school fundamentals. I should have carried paper maps and a compass, should have spent time studying the route. Most importantly, I should have stayed with my friends. I couldn’t go back or erase it, but I was now in a situation where I had to deal with it.

Damn, the phone didn’t work, and I couldn’t do anything. Time passed, and there were no signs of anyone else—just me, the road, and the setting sun above.

A lesson learned—don’t underestimate the basics, the fundamentals, and, most importantly, what we’ve learned or devised mechanically. The invisible magic may appear and disappear at will... be ready to deal with it!