In an idle moment, I find myself remembering a trivial experience.

In January of 2005, I found myself being sent on a business trip to Austin. It was not to be a leisurely trip with opportunities to explore — just three days of various meetings and presentations — so I wasn’t particularly excited about it. The possibility of getting some Texas barbecue was pretty much the only attraction.

But shortly before the trip, my wife happened to see a program on the Food Network about doughnuts. And this program asserted that the best doughnuts in the United States happened to come from a place called Round Rock Donuts in — of all places — Austin. This seemed like an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. At least, she implied that I couldn’t.

But could I actually swing it? Looking it up on Yahoo Maps, I determined that this place was not actually in Austin, but in Round Rock, a suburb to the north. And looking at my itinerary, it appeared that my only opportunity to make a side trip to Round Rock would be on the last day, during the time between the last meeting and my flight home. I printed out two sets of directions: one from the meeting venue and one from my hotel. (Consumer GPS devices were still relatively new, and I didn’t have one.)

I endured the three days of meetings. Well, two and a half: I decided that I could safely skip the afternoon sessions on that last day, which bought me a couple of hours. I snuck out to my rented Kia Rio and slipped away along Burnet Road. My first stop was lunch. I found my way to a nearby location of a barbecue place called County Line, so I was able to check that off my list, at least. But now it was time for the real challenge: Could I navigate to Round Rock Donuts, despite having never been in Austin before?

It is interesting to remember what this sort of expedition was like before we had GPS. I did not have directions from the restaurant to Round Rock Donuts, but by consulting the two sets of directions that I did have, I figured out where things were relative to each other and what I needed to do: I needed to head north on a road curiously named the MoPac Expressway, which would take me to I-35 and thence to Round Rock. (I learned later — actually, today — that the MoPac Expressway is so named because it was built alongside the Missouri Pacific Railroad.)

I had a brief crisis of confidence when I failed to find the expressway where I expected to, instead finding a highway known as Loop 1. But soon I deduced that the two were one and the same, so I headed north. Then I came to an area of heavy construction, and nothing matched my directions anymore. Apparently they were building some major new turnpike, and despite the beliefs advanced by Yahoo Maps, Loop 1 did not seem to lead where I expected.

I was out of my reckoning, but I wasn’t actually lost: I’d studied my maps enough that I knew I had to run into I-35 eventually if I just kept going. Sure enough, I eventually found it, and not long after that I took the exit that led me to downtown Round Rock. The doughnut shop was right where it was supposed to be, and after I parked the Kia, I walked across the parking lot feeling like a pilgrim arriving at a holy shrine.

The lady at the counter was busy helping another customer, but eventually a man who had been outside sweeping the front porch came in and asked me if I’d been helped. I told him no, and because I was so excited to be there, I told him my story: I was from North Carolina, I said, and my wife had seen something on the Food Network, and I had instructions to bring some doughnuts home. Yes, I had traveled a thousand miles for doughnuts! Among other things.

I ordered thirteen doughnuts: a dozen sealed up in a box for the trip home, plus one to eat right away. After disappearing for a few minutes to assemble my order, the man returned and handed me the doughnuts: “And we’ll treat you,” he said.

I’ll admit, I had considered the possibility that he might be so moved by my story that he’d throw in the thirteenth doughnut for free, but I never for a moment expected him to give me the entire order for nothing. Rather stunned, I thanked him inadequately and promised that we would be back the next time we were in town.

Getting the doughnuts home without getting them squashed was another challenge, but they made it home in edible condition. And they were good, as advertised.

Why do I so vividly remember that afternoon, when I don’t remember anything at all about the two and a half days of meetings that preceded it? Sitting in a room listening to people tell you stuff just can’t compare to the experience of taking on a challenge — even a trivial one — and successfully completing it. Would I remember that experience so clearly if I had had a GPS-enabled smartphone and Google Maps? I doubt it. I would have driven to Round Rock passively, with no understanding of where I was or where I was going. It wouldn’t have felt like a small adventure.

And it helped that the reward at the end was so unexpected and so appreciated. The fact that the doughnuts were a gift made a much bigger impression on me than the quality of the doughnuts themselves. And they were made even sweeter by the fact that I had to work for them a little bit.