It has nothing to do with politics, but in Detroit you simply can't make a left turn.

Some traffic engineer genius, no doubt the younger, dumber brother of Bruno, who pilots the street sweeping machine, sat down one day and went wild on his Etch a Sketch. Bruno, who is a great fund raiser for the mayor (imprisoned or not), then gets the "atta boy" slap on the back and is suddenly in charge of your life while speeding along at 60 miles per hour. So Bruno takes Dumber's idea and applies it to all of Detroit's Metro area.

The idea is, that if you're racing towards an intersection and you see a Coney Island Dog stand you want to get to on the left side of the street, you won't be able to get there. Don't matter if Mr. Coney Island Dog donated to text sexed Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick or not. Bruno, through Dumber, says that you have to first make a right hand turn onto a perpendicular street, then make a U-turn and head in the direction you wanted to go in the first place.

Brilliant!

Just when I was starting to like the small non- bombed out, no gang infested parts of Detroit (see my article on "Getting Mo out of Motown" ), I had the experience of spending a year in Detroit last week. If you're planning a Detroit stay or trip -- Don't.

I had to stay in Southfield, which doubles as the Bermuda Triangle of the Midwest. Cars enter the diagonal, curved and nameless streets of this Detroit suburb and they are never seen again. They were filming an episode of "Unsolved Mysteries" when I was there. The production and film crew were so lost that they had had no contact with the real world for a decade and weren't aware that their show had been cancelled years prior.

My diggs in Southfield was an Extended Stay hotel. I swear that the hotel was on rollers, as it never seemed to be where I left it early in the morning. It tricked you, though. It has easy access off of I-696, but then traps you in a maze of endless cloned streets that dead end, twist and lead always to a mini-mart liquor store with skinny, booze soaked drunks in front of it. It's the worst of the worst of Detroit and Southfield hotels.

One afternoon, I had to dart back to the Extended Stay. "Dart" is the wrong word, though. I had to track my way back, using landmarks like some sixteenth century explorer. First, find the nameless road that curves to the right, then pass the fork in the road that has one prong going into a grass berm, then look for the giant Chase building, then...then... the f***king thing is not there. It knew! The damned Extended Stay knew I had to get back in a hurry.

My plan was to get back, take care of some electronic business and take a quick snooze, before doing the evening seminar.

I finish the endless, useless email correspondence, and I can squeeze in fifteen minutes of rest. I set the alarm on my phone and -- you guessed it. The fire alarm goes off. A wailing siren and a sharp piercing squelch are pounding my head. I roll over and call to the front desk. "Is there really a fire?" I ask. The front desk clerk assures me that there is not a fire.

The alarm continues. I try a pillow, and it somehow is louder. Finally, I decide to just pack my stuff and head out. I had a VIP to pick up anyway. I put my boxes on my wheels and ride down the elevator. I step out into a swirl of smoke. The Southfield Fire Department says "hello" on their way in.

I'm not sure what is on the Detroit Flag, but it should be a big middle finger salute to its captive residents and visitors.

I managed to survive numerous entries and exits of the Southfield Bermuda Triangle. One guy in a 1956 Pontiac stopped me and asked for directions. I thought he was there for the big annual cruise event, which features antique cars, until I saw that he was wearing thick horned rimmed glasses. He had a full, gray beard, and he asked me if I was going to vote Republican. He was. He thought Eisenhower had some good ideas. I wished him luck, and a couple of days later still saw him circling aimlessly on the nameless roads.

My VIP thought I was crazy. And stupid. I just kept getting lost in the Triangle.

I guess I was stupid. Stupid for thinking Detroit was spiffing up. Stupid to think that the city will get anywhere, when Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick text sexes his former administrative assistant, lies about it under oath, then violates his parole and ends up on the pen. Stupid to think that you can get anywhere in a city where you can't make a left turn.

Come to think about it, maybe the city --and state of Michigan-- has made too many left turns. I guess it does have to do with politics.