Leaving Ar-Kansas

Where we were when we last spoke?

Ah yes, here we were:

The Westy stuck on the side of the road in Daisy, Arkansas.

The thing about emergency roadside service: when you call them for a tow, they need to know to where you want to be towed. “Um, the crack VW mechanic in Daisy Arkansas, who specializes in 1987 watercooled Vanagons, please.”

“What? There ARE no VW mechanics in Daisy? Excuse me? In all of southwestern Arkansas?”

We’ve been through this before. We are not waiting for some guy in Daisy, Arkansas to order a new starter for a 1987 Westy, while we wait in the Daisy Motel 6, going barking mad. We were lucky enough to find the magical genius Rubén in Nogales, Arizona last time:

. . . but this ain’t Nogales.

.

Nine days in Nogales was one thing. But a dozen days in Daisy??

“You know what? Just tow us to the Daisy, Arkansas U-Haul. There is no Daisy Arkansas U-Haul?? Oh for pete's sake. Then just tow us to the Nashville, Arkansas U-Haul.”

And that’s just what ol’ Lou does.

We empty the contents of Westy into the back of UHaulic,

(No, that's not ALL of it. That's MOST of it.)

. . . and take off.

Hey, Westy’s an old girl. She’s tired. She’s been hauling us around the country for 7½ years, 127,000 miles, and 48 states. The very least we can do is give her a ride home.

So now we're just towing our bedroom around. Very civilized. Camping’s never been so luxurious.

(Hey, you can blog anywhere. . . )

UHaulic is very dependable, which is great, especially in the mountains. But man. Boring? Dull as dirt. And bumpy? Aye-yah-yie.

We cross 8 or 9 states, driving on the interstate the whole way – a tragic way to travel – and then BAM:

And, BAM:

Yep. We're back in Connecticut, allright. But 2:30 on a Thursday afternoon??? What da?

It’s like we never left.

Except THIS time, we’ve got this truck in front of us:

Staring at The Country Hen Man is NOT the worst way to sit through traffic:

C’Mon! Even Mistah Schleckah smiles in traffic behind this guy.

Hen-Man helps.

So do the amazing and glorious Mom and Dad, who, when we arrive at their house, welcome us with open refrigerator wine bottles arms. And feed us a Lebanese meal . . .

And when we head to the other side of the state today, we will, for the second time in 4 months, arrive home . . .

No, not this home:

although it's home.

And not THIS home,

although IT's home.

This home . . . Our new home. In New London. Is this home?