I recently left the San Francisco Bay Area in search of a quieter, calmer life. Yes, I actually chose to give up my front-row seat to the telecommunications revolution of the 21st century. I left behind a place where billboards and radio ads promoting Web application development tools were not uncommon. A place from which, it seemed, all technical and cultural innovations came. My destination was on the other side of the continent in Portland, Maine, a place beyond the reach of Microsoft Sidewalk. A place where the need had yet to arise for Web sites where you could order pizza or Chinese food and have it delivered to your door within minutes. A place where billboards advertised the nearest lobster shack and Dexter shoe outlet. A place with the state motto, "The way life should be."
My trek took me on a 4,000-mile route across the country through the very heartland of America. I visited friends and relatives I hadn't seen in years, people from all walks of life: retirees, schoolteachers, a mortgage broker, two professional musicians, and an accountant - to name a few. I had a rare opportunity to descend from the high-speed blur of complex enterprise information management and see what the rest of the population was up to. My reality check proved enlightening.
The Internet is now an integral part of pop culture, period. This new medium has captured the minds and hearts of the populace. People I had written off as technophobes five years ago were eager to talk this time. Without fail, everybody I encountered either had a computer or had strong intentions of buying one. Among those planning to buy computers, there were still a few who took the Titanic lifeboat approach, saying, "It's too late for me to learn this, but I'll be damned if my kids don't have a computer." For others, cost was still a concern. One friend had spent $1,000 on a large-screen TV but was still reluctant to spend the same amount on a computer. But most people I encountered who had yet to purchase a computer were simply scolding themselves for not having done it yet.
Of those who had computers, their major motivation was not to obtain lightning-fast results to their database queries, nor was it to maintain their interactive, multimedia Web sites or run their e-commerce ventures. People - and I'm talking real people, the Aunt Helens and Uncle Bobs of the world - bought and were using their computers primarily to stay in touch with friends and family.
Email is the thing. There is still tremendous confusion and intimidation about the Web, but people now understand and want the power of email. My mother is blissfully unaware that she is only using five percent of her computer's potential, getting all her satisfaction from email and basic AOL services. And while I was making my journey East, I was receiving emails from friends traveling in Italy. Everywhere they stopped, they managed to find someone with a computer who'd let them use it to send email. One Italian town even offered free Web access from its visitors' bureau so travelers could send email to the folks back home. To my knowledge, not even the most advanced high-tech American cities have yet to offer such a service.
Don't get me wrong. On my wagon train heading east I wasn't immune to the high-tech world. Although I had to forfeit my laptop before departure, I had plenty of interactions with databases, data warehouses, and the like. I encountered check-out clerks at a Wal-Mart in Greensburg, Indiana who went about their work totally unaware that their systems were connected to one of the largest data warehouses in operation today. (I was tempted to purchase a very odd assortment of items just to throw off their statistics.) I registered in a frequent-guest program at a popular hotel chain, showed up at a new branch in a different state the next night, and was already recognized on the system. And because the Maine DMV had instant access to my California driving record, I walked out of the place with a new driver's license in less than 20 minutes.
Along my journey, I encountered many people whose perception of Maine was similar to my perception of the outer reaches of Siberia. The first question was inevitably, "Why?!?" People assumed they'd never be able to email me again, asking if the phone lines were good enough to get Internet access. Others asked just what Maine was, a state or a place or what. So let me provide a little update here. Maine has more fiber optic lines than any other state in New England. Portland alone has a $20 million fiber optic loop system, not bad for a city whose population barely reaches 65,000. The state known for its quaint fishing villages and people who say "ayuh" is already wired for the 21st century, while some states are barely nearing the 20th century. Downtown at the JavaNet Cafı I can get a delicious lattı (another item many people thought unobtainable in Maine), read and send emails, and check on the shipping status of several packages heading my way, all on a state-of-the-art machine.
OK, so maybe I was secretly hoping that as I crossed the California state line I'd get a break from the high-tech world. Maybe in the outer reaches of my imagination I hoped that in Maine I'd have to trade in my Camry for a horse and buggy and spend my evenings churning butter by the fire. Or at least I'd get to look for books in a musty dog-eared card catalog again. Wrong. The Portland Public Library's catalog is completely online. Let's face it: There's no escaping the future. But at least now I get it in four seasons.