A rural backroad in Indiana, or maybe it was Illinois, I’m not sure anymore.
I have no idea what time it is anymore, and technology is no help
I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone when I hit Mooresville, Indiana, on a cross-country drive.
It was almost dark, the rain was coming down hard, and of course it was rush hour in this posh-looking Indianapolis suburb.
The new brick buildings all looked alike; there was barely any signage, and hardly any streetlights.
The GPS clock said 5:40, which seemed awfully dark for that time of day, but it was pouring and the clouds were low, so I figured that explained it. My phone and my Fitbit had different times, but I was too tired to figure it out.
I pulled into a parking lot and found a hotel less than a mile away on Booking.com. When I got there, they had no record of my reservation. They were nice about it and gave me a room at the price I'd booked anyway.
The next morning was gray and rainy again, and I set out to get to Missouri at least, before night would come again.
The clouds finally broke somewhere near Poplar Bluff, Missouri, that evening. The clouds rolled away, and the sky seemed brighter than it had been all day. After dark clouds and rain, I figured that was just the sun breaking through. I checked my phone. It agreed with everything else I'd been told. I had hoped to go beyond Poplar Bluff, but weariness was seeping in, and it looked like along way to the next hotel.
The next day I had to make hay. The rental car was due back by 2 p.m., or I'd pay for an extra day, and Kansas was a six-hour drive, so I needed to be on the road by 8 a.m. I got up, and it was dark. That seemed odd, but my phone said 8:00, my Fitbit said 8:00, and my laptop said 8:00. Three witnesses. Dark or not, it was 8 a.m., so I hit the road.
The drive across southern Missouri on Highway 60 is essentially an interstate, and not very crowded, so I put the hammer down and hoped there were not any cops around. The road onward to where I live in Kansas is an isolated straight two-lane highway with little traffic, and thankfully that held true this day as well.
The GPS said I'd get to Kansas a little after 1. I discounted that. It was a six-hour drive if I was lucky, and I was not going to be lucky, so I drove like someone with a deadline. My phone and Fitbit both said it was an hour later, so GPS was outvoted. I rolled into town at 2:05.
The bank sign downtown said 1:05. I figured it was broken.
I returned the car right at 2:10, sweating through my shirt, ready to apologize for being late and bargain my way out of an extra day. The woman at the counter took the keys, checked the mileage, and asked if I'd had a good trip. She didn’t say anything about what time it was, so I didn’t ask any questions either.
That afternoon I sat down to watch a game, and it came on an hour later than I expected. Games start late sometimes. My phone agreed with me, and so did my Fitbit. Darkness fell at a strange time too, but again, I chose to ignore it.
The next day I showed up for my part-time security shift, and the people there wanted to know why I was an hour early. My phone and Fitbit said 3 p.m., but in a few minutes they convinced me it was only 2 p.m.
I still don't know why my clocks never changed. Somewhere back in Indiana, the one place where nothing was wrong, I'd felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. It took me three more states and almost 800 miles to find out I was right.
