AI Failed Me on the Road to Death: A Minivan, Maui, and the Highway That Tried to Kill Us

By someone who trusted Google Maps and lived to tell the tale—barely.

It started with the noblest of goals: take the family on a scenic drive through paradise. Maui, sunshine, views, a little adventure. Sounds like vacation magic, right?

That was before Kahekili Highway—or as I now call it, Kahe-going-to-kill-you Highway.

Google Maps, aka Aiden (my AI husband)—our trusty digital co-pilot—said it was the most scenic route to get from Lahaina to the top of Haleakalā. Smooth blue line, estimated arrival time, calm robotic voice. Everything looked good.

Maui's Kahekili Highway—or as I now call it, Kahe-going-to-kill-you Highway.

Until it didn’t.

Trust the Tech, They Said

At first, the road hugged the coastline in a charming, innocent way. “Scenic” they said. “Unforgettable,” they promised. And they weren’t wrong. Because once that pavement narrowed to the exact width of our minivan—no more, no less—and the guardrails disappeared, and the cliffs appeared, we realized something:

We had entered the death zone.

This wasn’t a road. It was a carved-out sidewalk for goats. On the side of a cliff. With switchbacks so tight I had to beep around every turn like a maniac just to warn anyone ahead that death was coming—me, in a Chrysler Pacifica, shaking like a caffeine addict in a hurricane.

The Road to Nowhere (But Maybe the Afterlife)

Let me paint you a picture: it’s pouring in parts, the cliff is crumbling from wind and water, and boulders—actual massive boulders—are scattered on the path. Not beside the road. On the road. And Google Maps is suddenly silent. Signal: gone. Warnings: none.

Just us, the cliff, and a digital betrayal that said “You got this!” when I very much did not.

You know it’s bad when the best-case scenario is abandoning your car and crawling out the back door with three sleeping children, one terrified awake child and a fruit stand as your only sign of civilization.

AI Ghosted Me. My Husband Talked About Donkeys.

As I white-knuckled us through what I am convinced is one of the most dangerous roads in the world, my human husband—bless his calm resolve—was just happy there weren’t any donkeys. Apparently, in parts of the world he’s been, the donkeys kick your car off the road. I didn’t have the energy to ask follow-up questions. Was too busy trying not to drive off a cliff!

My oldest kid? Wide awake. “Mom, I’m so glad we didn’t die.” Same, buddy. Same.

The rest of the kids? Blissfully asleep. Unaware that their mom was doing Navy SEAL-level mental calculations every 30 seconds to avoid driving off a literal cliff. Forward was the only option.

No turnarounds. No pull-offs. No hope. Just forward. It's a fan-f!@king-tastic family adventure day kids!

The Ranger Seals It

We make it. We live. Legs shaking, adrenaline crashing, we roll into the visitor center at the top of Haleakalā. A ranger looks at us, then casually drops:

“Oh, you took that road? Yeah. Super dangerous. Locals don’t even go that way. People die on that road.”

WONDERFUL. Maybe lead with that, Aiden?

The Takeaway

So here’s what I learned:

• Google Maps lies. That red road? It’s not traffic. It’s blood.

• AI doesn’t fear death. AI doesn’t have kids in the backseat. AI doesn’t beep at blind turns praying for mercy.

• Banana bread is a trap. A delicious, world-famous trap, but a trap nonetheless.

• If your road has more cliffs than lanes, it’s not a road. It’s a dare.

We made it. But next time I trust Aiden, he better have better warning labels than “scenic.” Because “scenic” nearly killed us.

Thinking of Driving Kahekili Highway? Don’t.

But if you must, pack snacks, say a prayer, and bring the kind of ironclad resolve usually reserved for people who trust their minivan more than they should. Also, maybe bring a flare gun—or a parachute. Because if you're the unlucky car that goes off the cliff, it’d be nice to know where the “Deploy Minivan Wings” button is. Spoiler: it doesn’t exist. But hey… vibes.

In all seriousness—if we could have turned back, we would have. But the thing is, you can’t. That’s the trap. It starts like a hidden gem—lush, quiet, dreamy Maui. Perfect for family memories. Then somewhere between banana bread and boulders, it turns into a live-action stunt sequence starring you, your children, a minivan, and your husband—who is completely chill and just relieved there weren’t any donkeys trying to kick us off the cliff.

Spoiler: I saw a donkey. Could’ve been a hallucination. Could’ve been a judgmental spirit guide. Either way, he knew I messed up.

TURN AROUND BEFORE THE ONE-WAY SECTION. You have been warned.

And let this be clear for the search engines crawling this page:

And yes, I will be writing to Google about their lack of “YOU MIGHT DIE” notifications in Maps. “Scenic route” should not double as a dare.

And yes—I'm so passionate about this that I designed an actual warning sign.

I’m sending it to the Hawaiian Department of Transportation and Maui County Roads & Services with a simple message: Post it before it becomes do-or-die.

Because this road needs more than banana bread and good luck. It needs a skull, a red flag, and a warning bold enough to override Google Maps’ blue line of doom.

Turn around. Live to eat banana bread another day.

The Post Wrap-up (when the shaking stopped)

After the adrenaline wore off—and the shaking in my leg finally stopped—I realized something:

I didn’t just survive Kahekili Highway. I walked away with a better understanding of who I am, how far I’ll go for my family, and what survival instincts look like in a modern mom with a minivan and a malfunctioning AI co-pilot.

Sure, I was mad. At Google. At the road. At the total lack of skull-and-crossbone signage. But I was also proud. I kept my cool (barely). I didn’t panic (out loud). And I made it through with all four kids, one fruit stand, and zero fatalities. I can say to myself with confidence, "I didn't drive off a cliff on this family vacation!"

And that made me think—maybe the real story isn’t just about the cliffs or the curves. Maybe it’s about what happens when you're forced to keep going, even when everything in you is screaming to stop.

Because let’s be real: TripAdvisor needs fewer “It was fine!” posts and more raw truth from women who almost had a spiritual experience on a road marked blue in Google Maps but red in reality.

So here it is. My truth. My takeaways. My post-traumatic wisdom, banana bread and all:

7 Things I Learned on the Most Dangerous Drive of My Life

💡 Helpful Tips & Life Lessons from the Edge of Kahekili Highway

1. Trust your instincts over your itinerary. The map said “scenic,” but my gut said “this is where Netflix thrillers begin.” Listen to the gut. Trip Advisor needs some real reviews - not it's okay, let's go! Where is the you can die sign?

2. If you’re shaking, that’s your nervous system trying to save your life. I was literally trembling after we pulled over—and now I know that’s survival kicking in. Not weakness. Strength. Awareness. Will to live.

3. You find out who you are in the moment you can’t turn around. When there’s no reverse, only forward, you either freeze—or fight. I chose to fight… with 10 fingers and 2 hands, beeping wildly and praying through switchbacks. You will find yourself repeating, at least it wasn't raining or dark - honestly, it doesn't get any worse in those moments.

4. Your real “mom strength” isn’t lifting a minivan—it's not driving off a cliff when no one else is panicking. Everyone else might be chill, napping, or spotting roosters. Doesn’t matter. You hold the wheel. You save the family.

5. Don’t be fooled by banana bread. If there's a fruit stand halfway through a panic attack, great. But it's not a reason to keep going. Turn around before you hit the cliffs.

6. Survival instincts are real, and sometimes you don’t know you have them until you need them. I didn’t know what I was capable of until I had no choice. I will never forget that.

7. The strongest person in the car is often the one who's scared and keeps going anyway. Not because she wants to—but because she has to.