Everything went fairly quickly getting packed up and half the time I struggled understanding what Albert said. He said "we's country folk"! Albert doesn't speak with an accent, he IS the accent. Through and through.
After a long series of dramatic events with my family, we eventually hit the road around 2 p.m. a 26-Foot U haul and a Honda Accord, ready to rock and roll. The plan was that the two guys would drive the U-haul, following behind me.
We went through Columbia and I appropriately honked my horn and mentally did a little MIZ just for kicks. We stopped just outside of St. Louis for gas and to get a little snack. Inside the gas station the clerk said "are you all from the south??" Albert's response: "WE SHOW-ah IS." Now comes the questions I started asking myself as I'm and about 4.5 hours in to this 17 hour long trip:
-How do you turn a 1 syllable word in to a 5 syllable word?
-How on Earth will I avoid coming home with a southern accent?
-Please don't let us break down in East St. Louis.
The first night we stopped somewhere in a remote city in Illinois for the night. I went in ahead of the guys and told the woman behind the desk that I needed two rooms. She said that they only had two King Suites available. I said that would have to do cause I certainly wasn't driving another 2 hours to the next major town. Fifty-six year old Albert comes in as I begin filling out the paper work and she says to him..."Well, I guess I could offer you the handicapped suite." What a perfect end to a long day. Hilarious.
We hit the road early the next day and drove through Kentucky and pretty much spilled out right in to the outskirts of Nashville. I was secretly hoping to take a wrong turn and end up in Tim McGraw's front yard or breakdown right in front of the Grande Ole Opry but no such luck. Then we kept driving...and driving...and driving. Tennessee is the never-ending state and between the major cities you're driving in 5 lanes of traffic either way you're going. That was a little nerve wracking considering Josh was driving that U haul (with all of my worldly possessions)like Mario Andretti on the last turn of the Daytona 500.
When we finally made it to the east side of Tennessee (I appropriately played "Back Where I Come From") until I had to abruptly turn the music off, turn my phone off and throw it in the floor boards. I had flashback to sophomore year Driver's Ed when my teacher, Ms. Wenzel, would throw her entire body weight on that passenger side break and yell "TOO FAST, TOO FAST." Two hands on the wheel, ten and two people. Suddenly we were in the mountains, with snow, 90 degree curves, and truckers that act like they too are racing in the Daytona 500. This mountain driving went on for at least 45 minutes and I was white-knuckled, eyes on the road the whole time.
Eventually the guys ahead of me signaled to get off and we stopped for dinner. I'm pretty sure I should have just taken a Xanex by that point. I told them I was a little bit nervous on those mountain roads and glad I made it through that; they both laughed at me and said..."You ain't seen nothing yet." Turns out we were just in sort of a mountain town and we still had to go down Black Mountain a 4000 feet drop in about a matter of a quarter of a mile.
They weren't kidding...We had dinner and suddenly I was on an episode of ice road truckers. They weren't kidding, runaway trucks everywhere, it was snowing, and not to mention the road reminded me of the track for the Mamba roller coaster at World's of Fun. We finally got back on flat ground and I slowly peeled my fingers off the steering wheel.
That night I stayed in a Villa at my new Club and was set to move in the next morning. I finally fell in to bed around midnight that night.
The best part about this whole move was that instead of looking for the panic button like I thought I might be was that I was anxious and excited to get moved in and get to work.
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