This was a get-away and work weekend we had talked about but just couldn’t seem to pull off.

Then my son, Jack, suggested we stop at his home in western Massachusetts. A plan emerged; leave me there since getting around on a walker didn’t make me a viable member of a work party. Ted, our younger son would join Carol to help open things in upstate New York.

Carol had the car packed and ready Wednesday night. We were up and on the road by 5 a.m. Everything was going just as intended. It was 73 degrees, and we would be ahead of the 90-degree heat forecast for the day. Also, just as important, we were ahead of the morning traffic and imagined we could be on the Mass Pike by 6 a.m. – beating the traffic there, too.

We breezed through Hoxsie Four Corners and onto Rte. 37. There was some traffic on 295, early morning commuters. DOT work crews were also on the road. We hadn’t taken them into consideration, but how much could a few speed reductions to 45 MPH slow things down? It didn’t…at first.

We’ve made this trip countless times and knew to hug the right lane when we reached 146 in order to travel north. It’s a section of highway that is under perpetual construction. I thought as soon as they had straightened out the interchange sending traffic to Woonsocket, and that was years ago, we would fly through to a divided 146 making it a simple run, albeit about 20 miles to the pike. But then, for those who know the road there’s that sticky intersection near the drive-in theater packed with auto dealers, service stations and a hodgepodge of businesses. That can be deadly especially in the summer with local traffic, tractor trailers, campers and trucks hauling construction equipment. Usually if you’ve cleared the light and the iconic milk can, the surviving beacon of a dairy bar long gone, you’re safe.

We had it planned, all of that would be in the rear-view mirror and it would be clear sailing.

But then as we approached the 146 exit there were flashing blue and red lights. Carol slowed to a creep. Barrels lined the exit lane. A lone police officer watched our approach, waving a detour sign. We wouldn’t be getting on 146, at least not there. It looked to me if we’d arrived ten minutes earlier the exit would have been open as work crews were starting to set up. We continued on 295, reassured by a single detour sign. Logic told us to get off at the next exit and circle back to 295 to rejoin 146. That was the plan anyhow. We got off the highway and abruptly arrived at an intersection. The light was green. There was a car on our tail. I scanned for a detour sign. There was none.

“Where do I go?” Carol said with a tinge of urgency. “Left,” I decided quickly.

We looked for signs. There were none. I pulled out my phone and clicked on maps. A blue dot told me where I was, but that didn’t help because this was foreign territory regardless that we have lived in Rhode Island for more than 55 years and probably no more than five miles from a place I’ve visited. I zoomed out on the map locating major highways, but now the local roads were tiny, and I couldn’t devise a route. Of course, had I plugged in a directive to take us to 146 that would have happened.

Instead, with signs directing us to Central Falls, we spotted a man wearing an orange work shirt bending over his rear-view mirror combing his beard on a residential side street. He was getting ready to go to work.

“Can you tell us how to get to 146?”

He looked up.

“146?”

I nodded. I could have been asking for directions to the Champs-Élysées. He got out his phone and pulled up an aerial view of the map I had. He circled until he found 146.

“Ah, here it is.”

He concluded I needed to get on 123. He pointed in the direction we had come from identifying land marks on the way.

“You sure this is right?“ Carol asked once we were on a winding rural road ten minutes later. I wasn’t sure, but we stayed the course. Then to our excitement we spotted a 146 sign ahead. White and orange barrels closed the on-ramp. There was another detour directing us back toward Providence. We laughed. There was little else we could do. After backtracking a couple of miles, we found more barrels and a confusing array of arrows. We turned and quickly realized we were on a 146 off ramp. Just ahead was the on-ramp. We pulled a U turn and got on 146 heading toward Massachusetts. And you know what we encountered… more construction in the vicinity of the milk can. But we beat the heat and the traffic, but not just like we had planned.