Mileposts, Blue Signs, and the Courage to Name the Curve
Mileposts: Knowing Exactly Where You Are
In 2013, I took this photo while working along the Trans-Alaska Pipeline. At first glance, it looks like routine documentation. The brown pipeline sign reads:
RGV 51 N, 89 APL 6, MP 284.29, and Block Point S
For those of us on Trans-Alaskan Pipeline System (TAPS), that wasn’t decorative information. It was orientation. Precision. Accountability. Those markers told you exactly where you were inside a massive engineered system stretching across Alaska’s terrain. We carried TAPS maps at all times. Mileposts mattered. Block points mattered. In that environment, guessing was not a strategy.
Knowing where you were could mean the difference between coordination and confusion. Between response and delay. Between order and exposure. Location wasn’t trivia. It was operational clarity. The brown sign represented structure. It reflected disciplined planning and engineered control in a landscape that had very little mercy for sloppiness.
Organizations have their own mileposts. They show up in strategic plans, dashboards, quarterly targets, and org charts. These are not optional. They create alignment and shared language. They answer the question, “Where are we?”
Common organizational mileposts include:
Revenue and profitability targets
Growth and expansion benchmarks
Defined roles and reporting structures
SOPs and workflow systems
Project timelines and milestones
These markers matter. They give teams a reference point. They anchor effort. But knowing where you are does not automatically guarantee safety in how you move.
Blue Signs: What Experience Teaches
Just off to the right side of the frame sits a small blue sign. It reads plainly: “Oh Shit Corner.” It’s official… not just fun! It’s not engineered language. There is a simple reality of how things are named up in America’s most northern state.
Many of Alaska’s most unforgettable names are not born in a conference room. They’re born in repetition, consequence, and story.
Here’s the practical truth:
Some of these names are official and made it through the formal map-naming process.
Many are unofficial local usage names that live on tongues, not in GNIS. Domestic Names | U.S. Geological Survey
Some are worksite nicknames or local sign humor used for safety and shared memory, even if they never become official map labels.
The Alaska Historical Commission guidelines actually acknowledge this tension: local usage is the strongest justification for naming a feature officially, but a name “coined by the applicant” is not the same thing as broad community usage. There must be a clear/ shared understanding of what the name means and represents.
One of the things I love about Alaskans is their innate ability to point out the obvious and name it. No softened phrasing. No committee-approved rebranding. If a bend in the road has humbled enough drivers, it earns a title. The name itself becomes the warning and it evokes a clear/ shared understnading.
You see it across the state:
“Little Nasty Creek.” There’s a story behind that. I’m not entirely sure I want to hear it.
“Beaver Slide.” You can feel the grade in your stomach just reading it.
These names are not clever marketing. They are preserved memory. They compress hard-earned lessons into language, so the next person doesn’t have to learn them from scratch.
The brown sign told you where you were. The blue sign told you what had happened there before. One represented engineered clarity. The other represented experiential wisdom.
Both are necessary.
Precision Is Not Immunity
In pipeline work, hazards are not confined to the weld site, dance floor, or excavation zone. They exist in transition…. In the drive between segments. They exist in changing weather and in the fatigue after long rotations. They exist in the quiet overconfidence that comes from familiarity.
You could know your exact milepost and still misjudge the curve ahead.
Precision of location did not eliminate risk of movement. The terrain always told the truth. If you underestimated slope, gravity corrected you. If you misjudged speed, momentum educated you. The land did not respond to intention. It responded to physics.
Organizations function under similar principles. You can know your revenue position, your hiring plan, your growth trajectory, and still drift into risk if you misjudge momentum. Success can create its own blind spots and familiarity can dull vigilance.
This is where many leaders get surprised. They believe clarity of metrics equals control of movement and It doesn’t. Metrics tell you where you are. They do not always tell you what the next curve will do under pressure.
Organizations Have Their Own “Oh Shit Corners”
Every company, regardless of industry, eventually encounters its own version of “Oh Shit Corner.” It’s the point where speed, pressure, and complexity converge. It’s the place that has quietly humbled enough teams that it deserves a name.
Often, these corners aren’t hidden. They’re visible in patterns. They show up in recurring friction, strained communication, or near misses. But because they don’t appear on official dashboards, they go unnamed.
Common organizational blue signs include:
Scaling faster than systems can support
Communication drift between leadership and field operations
Overconfidence built on recent wins
Fatigue masked as dedication
Information lag that slows execution
Cultural cracks that widen under growth
Decision-making bottlenecks that emerge at scale
Most teams can feel these forming. The issue is rarely ignorance. The issue is hesitation. We soften the language. We call it “growing pains.” We label it “temporary friction.” We convince ourselves it’s just the cost of expansion.
But clarity requires courage.
Alaska doesn’t call it “Moderately Challenging Bend.”
It calls it what it is.
Naming Is a Leadership Discipline
When you label the bend in the road, you reduce ambiguity. You invite preparation. You create shared awareness. Naming is not negativity. It is stewardship.
Inside an organization, honest naming accomplishes three things:
It creates collective memory.
It reduces surprise.
It lowers ego.
When everyone knows where the dangerous curve is, people slow down. They communicate differently. They allocate resources differently. They stop pretending the terrain is flat. Unlabeled hazards create repeated lessons. Named hazards create institutional wisdom. There is a humility in acknowledging where you’ve been stretched. There is strength in admitting where your systems strain. That humility builds margin. That honesty builds resilience.
Dispatch Reflection
As you move deeper into 2026, pushing to grow and scale, take a moment to evaluate both your mileposts and your blue signs.
Ask yourself:
Where are our official markers clear and aligned?
Where are we moving faster than our systems can support?
What recurring friction point keeps surprising us?
What conversation are we avoiding because it feels uncomfortable?
What needs a more honest name?
Growth is not the enemy. Speed is not the enemy. Expansion is not the enemy. Unlabeled terrain is the risk.
The official brown signs tell you where you area They anchor you in the system, while providing structure and orientation. But the small blue signs tell you what momentum has done there before! They remind you that experience matters and that terrain carries a legacy.
The leaders who last are not the ones who only track the mileposts. They are the ones who respect the curves. Because knowing where you are is important. Knowing what the next bend has already taught others might be what keeps you on the road.