If you ever feel too good about yourself and your driving skills, take a quick trip to Chapel Hill and visit the campus of the University of North Carolina.

It is a place where the average age appears to be no older than 21, a place where the streets are confusing and the big roads plentiful. It is a town of fraternities and small pubs, of buses and lots of pedestrians. I had to go there last Thursday night to pick up a newspaper award. It was an experience, to say the least. It is always an experience when I go to a bigger town. To me, Galax, Va. feels like Metropolis. I don't need a city any larger than that. What else could a person possibly need?

Well, my trip started with a drive, and I do mean a drive. I was on more interstates than I could even start to name without a road atlas. I just kept following all of the signs that said "south."

There was 21 south, 77 south, 52 south, 421 south, 40 east (which is also something south), and 54 and 86. I don't know which way I was heading on the last two, because by then I was hopelessly lost. I stopped to ask an attractive lady at a bus stop where the hotel, called the Carolina Inn, was located. "Never heard of it," she said.

I somehow ended up in the town of Hillsborough, which looks absolutely nothing like Chapel Hill.

The Pakistani fellow who was running the convenience store I stopped at asking for directions simply said, "Sorry, no direction. You want to buy map?"

"I already have a map."

He started laughing then, probably thinking that I was joking. After all, drivers don't get lost with maps and real men don't ask for directions.

Just then, a man with a blue work suit with the name "Vinny" just above the pocket walked in. Now here was a guy who looked like a local with good directions. Guys named Vinny don't steer you wrong.

"Excuse me, sir. May I ask for directions to the Carolina Inn?" "I'm from Richmond," he said. "I can't even find I-40." Having just passed I-40 for the third time, I knew exactly where that was. "Turn left and go about three miles and you will see the signs," I told him.

"See, you not need direction," the nice Pakistani man said. I suspect he spoke better English than he let on. I always suspect that of anyone who seems to speak another language. Like they are conspiring against me or something. I wonder if they feel that way about me. Most likely not, I would bet they can tell that I am just another lost American with little or no foreign language sense about me. Perhaps I could put that on a bumper sticker: "Just another stupid American."

It is a hard point to argue, when you consider the ownership of most car companies, hotel chains and many other stores is in the hands of foreigners, while we sit here and do nothing but watch as other countries and their residents buy us out. It doesn't get much more stupid than that. I don't blame them, they are living the American dream.

But what about all of the Americans? Why do so many of us have no dreams and aspirations? I made a mental note to buy that book, "Learn to speak Pakistani and conquer the world."

At any rate, a young black man with a bandanna tied over his head was the first person who was nice enough to give me directions. He was playing a video game that required a lot of jiggling and button slapping. I don't have a clue what it was. The last video game I played was Pac Man. In between slaps, he offered me brief pearls of direction wisdom.

"You in Hillsborough, man," he said with a jiggle, two slaps and a groan toward the machine. "You be needing to head to Chapel Hill." After a long dramatic pause of about 20 seconds, during which time I considered just walking off and doing the best I could, he got started up again. "It's that way," he said, pointing to the left after one final slap of the shiny red machine's button.

At least he didn't say, "You can't miss it." I always miss it. I thanked him and "went that way." It sure does make a man feel helpless and pathetic to go down a road on the whim of a complete stranger. He could have sent me to Kalamazoo and I would have headed there with my big dumb American grin, thinking I was going the right way and waving at everyone I pass.

I got into that habit living in these mountains, but few people in other areas bother with being hospitable like we do. In fact, sometimes you get gestures completely unlike a wave.

I finally found my way and attended the award ceremony. The governor was there and he was fairly entertaining, which was more than I expected. After the ceremony, I got lost again and finally found my way back to the hotel (after stopping to ask for directions). This time I had better luck. I parked the car and decided to go find a place I could walk and eat.

So, I strolled into a restaurant on Franklin Street, I think it was called Chubby's, or something like that. I ordered up the special. It was "marinated and sliced select Argentine beef with Italian bell peppers, smothered with our own special blend of cheeses on a fresh-baked french roll."

If you asked me, it was a Steak-um with green peppers on a sub roll. It was really worth about $3.95. So you can imagine my surprise when I added a drink and a small tip and ended up paying $14.

Welcome to Chapel Hill.

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