Saturday we left our lovely South Dakota and entered Wyoming. I added an hour to our trip because I didn't believe my GPS system when it chose our route. (Her name is Gina Patricia Smithson, by the way. Yes, I'm a nerd. I name inanimate objects.) But then later, I did believe her and she took us on a shortcut that cut almost an hour off our drive.
Wyoming. What a shock to my system. South Dakota was so rich and beautiful and all, "I love you, Karlene, please come live here...", and the minute we crossed the border into Wyoming it was all parched and flat and boring.
Wyoming hates me. There were almost no fun billboards along the freeway to entice us. And then on Sunday, a truck threw a rock at me and put a chip in my baby's windshield.
And the bugs. Oh my gosh. Wyoming had more bugs, bigger bugs, stupider bugs than any other state we were in (and we passed through 9). And they were harder to clean off the windshield than any of the other states' bugs. Ugh.
Can you see all the bugs? That speckledy stuff is not the paint oxidizing. It's bug guts. No? Can't see them? Here's a close-up.
Sunday, we just booked it home. We'd see a touristy sign, Megan and I would look at each other and shake our heads and say, "Not worth it." We just wanted to get home. We drove 7 hours and only stopped for gas and food.
It is so nice to be home and to sleep in our own beds again.
Today, my still unnamed Jeep is all cleaned up and registered. It's mine, all mine, all mine. (Thanks Mom & Dad.)
**No contest for this post. Last contest will be posted tomorrow—it's a quiz.
I have some great posts coming up—
- Thursday, meet author Candace Salima
- Friday, Summer Reading Thing 2008 starts; also I'm a guest poster on Twas Brillig
- Monday, a Road Trip Recap and review of all the contest winners and their prizes
Now playing on my iPod: You're Sixteen by Ringo Starr