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I came up to North Carolina to visit the ‘rents for Father’s Day and, theoretically, get a good chunk of dissertation writing done. I wasn’t quite ready for my writing sabbatical, but on the day I was about to start my last experiments ever, my POS machine blew a piston seal and dumped oil all over the lab. It’s down for repair for, oh, you know, a couple of months, and I figured I’d better get out of town for some TLC before I went completely postal.

The problem with Mom’s TLC is the food, which comes at me from all directions at all times. And on weekend visits, that includes the nuclear assault of Sunday brunch at the clubhouse. Nothing like having all the time in the world to lollygag at your table with periodic trips to four buffet tables.

So I guess it’s a good thing I brought my bike up with me. And what better excuse than miles of quiet country roads and golf course cart paths to give the bike and the GPS-enabled application Sports Tracker a good workout.

And what better excuse than wanting to barf up a lung than to stop right there. Enough is enough!

Sports Tracker and the GPS in my phone did alright, although with the handset in the closed position (and tucked away in a sweat- and rain-proof plastic bag in my pocket), the resolution wasn’t as good as it can be when you’ve got it out in your hand. Variations of up to 50 meters from the true track in places raise some questions about its accuracy for total workout distance, but in less contorted routes, it should be pretty good.

And of course, the other bonus of GPS-enabled handsets: had I actually barfed up a lung and died out on the ride, since I had Fring updating my position in real time, my mother would have known where to look for me when I didn’t come home. You know, so she could bring more food.