Under the Wire

There is an old saying, “You can take the boy out of the country but you can’t take the country out of the boy.” Well, a recent experience I just barely lived through has proven those words to be very, very wrong!

A few days ago Sue and I made the sad journey from Brush to extreme Southeastern Kansas to help her siblings clean out the home of their recently departed father. She had made reservations at a nearby hotel for our several-day stay. The first night at our home away from home, Sue asked me to drive a short distance to a small gas station/convenience store for a couple of items. Darkness had settled in but I had no doubt I could easily make the short drive since I was pretty familiar with the surrounding country.

Getting there was pretty easy except for a “roundabout” to be maneuvered through. For anyone else who, like me, has never seen one of these before, they are a road that runs in a tight circle offering numerous opportunities for vehicles of all sizes to enter and exit in a pattern that resembles a pin-ball machine using full-sized car and pickup shaped balls, operating at highway speed. Somehow, I made my way through it, exiting at the store’s parking lot.

I quickly made my purchases, crawled back into Sue’s SUV which I am rarely allowed to drive and set out to retrace my path. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Well, as you will read, the trip was far from simple. Alone in an unfamiliar vehicle, absolute bottom of the well darkness, 700 miles from home, surrounded by trees everywhere, I couldn’t have told you if I was going east, west, north south, up or down.

Heavy traffic led me to the roundabout, whether I wanted to go there or not. Entering it, I dodged a semi rig and half a dozen cars who confused this circular path with a combination race track, demolition derby. As soon as possible, I exited onto a four-lane, tractor-trailer, Daytona 500 event marked by a huge sign telling me I was on my way to Tulsa, Okla., with my next chance to exit being Miami, Okla., 17 miles away. As I covered those 17 miles, never did I see an exit, turnaround or even a barrow pit to pull off in. Finally, the Miami exit appeared as did a toll booth where a sign said I needed to pay the $1.25 in exact change. In my pocket were two 20 dollar bills. The guy in the booth didn’t seem very happy as he counted out my change. I used my break time to explain I just wanted to get back to where I came from. Needing to get rid of the long string of cars behind me, he told me to drive forward, make a quick U turn and if I was still alive after that, pull back through the other side of his booth but I would need to pay another dollar and a quarter. I gave him my last 20 dollar bill, nerves having made me drop the first change he gave me between the car seats.

The return road did have the luxury of a six foot wide shoulder I could pull off on, allowing about six inches between Sue’s car mirrors and each passing truck. With the wind from each truck that roared by me rocking the car, I called Sue. Let’s just say that was not one of the most enjoyable calls I have ever made. Once we got past her initial “you are where?” she talked me through setting the car’s navigation system for a route home, a much less eventful trip.

Now about the saying that introduced this story It now should read, “You can take the boy out of the country but there is a very good chance you may never see him again!”