CALL me a fossil, but when I take a road trip I like to get around by using printed maps. I’ve been licensed to drive for 20 years, and every car I’ve owned has contained a Rand McNally Road Atlas, with the maps of the Northeastern states dog-eared and loosened from their staples. Navigating by map carries over to foreign roads, too. In May my wife and I went to France, where we drove around Provence and dipped a wheel into Italy.

Before we left, I amassed the blanket topographical coverage I imagine the Allied generals had when they stormed the Continent. Collecting the maps was an interminable process. Bookstores have scaled back their selection in recent years. Or stopped selling maps altogether. Apparently, a good number of people think printed maps are pointless nowadays.

For instance, my wife. Her idea of an enjoyable drive doesn’t involve messing with accordion folds and reading eye-chart type, while I yell out from behind the wheel: “We just passed a sign. Do you see Route 6 anywhere on there?” She prefers GPS. Likes the ease of it. Takes comfort in knowing we’re on the best route. According to the navigation software, anyway.

There’s admittedly something satisfying about watching the blue-dot version of yourself inch closer to its destination. And sure, for the rush-hour commuter it’s very 21st century for your phone to alert you to an accident snarling traffic up ahead. But I would argue that a road trip, especially one taken with another person, is a lesser experience with GPS or navigation apps. I’m not even going to get into how, in choosing the single most efficient route to your desired destination, GPS excludes other routes and destinations you might not realize you desire to see, and removes serendipity — which as any undergrad with a Penguin Classics edition of “On the Road” knows, is the very oxygen that makes a road trip come alive.