Move It – There Is No “Lose It” Option

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Time for another Army family move. That’s right, folks. Pack up the kids and the kittens, and away we go! This is my verbal-abuse sounding board for the drive from Maryland to Colorado. You may want to exit out of this article now, because it gets just a liiiiiiitle bitchy.  


First? Maryland is freakin’ big. Seriously. I didn’t know it was that big, and that it’d take that long to get across. You look at a map, and you’re thinking, “Oh, little Maryland. You’re so sweet and little. Would you like a lollipop or a balloon? How about a hug? Ohhh, you …”


Stop it. Maryland isn’t little, and it doesn’t deserve a lollipop or a hug. It deserves a poke in the schnoz for being huge, having crappy roads, shitty drivers, and having the town of Hancock. Why do I have a problem with Hancock, Maryland, you ask? Google it. And when you’re done, send me the lollipop and balloon.


The next few days consisted of:


WestVirginiaPennsylvaniaWestVirginiaOhioIndianaIllinoisMissouriKansas. I’d like to offer nice tidbits about each place. I can tell you (without having spent any significant amount of time in any of these contributors to the good ole Stars and Bars) is that their part of highway 70 seems to run pretty straight, and their traffic is us usually not bad. We drove on through Wyandotte County, Kansas, which I hadn’t seen for a few years. Looking at it in the early spring with late winter tendencies brought the move to (and quick move from) Kansas City to mind. It was then (and pretty much only then) that I did a quick and silent shout out in gratitude that we were not being stationed at Fort Riley. My gratitude and smiles were short-lived, as we quickly passed through Wyandotte County and were greeted with a sign stating that we were passing the last “Free Exit.”


Last Free Exit? What the French, Toast? My husband and I exchanged panicked Walkie Talkie transmissions as we struggled to search for loose change while navigating vehicles laden with a thousand pounds each. Vehicles jerked in and out of lanes as he yelled at me that I’d LIVED here, how could I not KNOW that there was a toll?!, as I screeched back that I’d never BEEN past Kansas City, and did he SEE the landscape? Why would I GO out there? Our shriek fest was short-lived, however, as we only needed press the button to retrieve our ticket, and pay at the off-ramp. Three whole dollars later, we had washed our hands of our current Midwest highway debacle, and we continued through … well … nothingness. 


Our last travel night was spent in Oakley, Kansas. We were met there by a three-story truck stop, and the first warm meal that didn’t come with a supersize option. We took the Prince of Processed Cheese swimming, and slept a little more easily than the previous nights. 


We woke early and drove through one of East Kansas’ famed April snowstorms. As I bobbed my head to Esthero, suddenly the clouds parted, and Pikes Peak came looming beautifully into view.


About Effing Time.

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