Monday I decided to leave Chez Sarge later than normal to make my way to my FOL (Forward Operating Location, aka "Up North"). Normal departure time on Mondays is 0500. To all my retired colleagues, that translates to "too damn early". Unless you're one of those types who has this sick joy at being up before the birds even wake up. You know who you are. My maternal grandmother used to tell everyone how she "normally" got up at 0500. Everyday. Even after she'd sold the farm. Everyone was rather impressed by my grandmother's ability to get up so early. Except the Nuke. One day when her great-grandmother was going on about how early she gets up and yada-yada-yada, the Nuke jumped in with "But Gram, you go to bed at like 1900 every night, you're logging a good solid ten hours of rack time. Sure, I get up at 10, but I go to bed at 2, that's 8 hours. You're getting 10. I am not impressed." Hhmm, I see I've digressed. Big surprise that, eh?
Where was I? Oh yeah, Monday. I left later than usual. Okay, let's pick that thread back up again.
Instead of being wheels up (metaphorically speaking), I did not depart the manse until shortly after 0800. 'Twas a beautiful day, the birds were still singing (only now they could see what they were doing) and I was on the road. Thinking to myself, "What the heck was I thinking all those years? Getting up at 0400, leaving at 0500. This is nice."
Traffic through the capital city of Little Rhody (Providence most call it, I will sometimes refer to it as Rhodiopolis. Just because I can and I am weird that way. Or "corny" as the Nuke might say) was "not bad". We mostly moved along smartly except for a few spots where the idiots who love bouncing from lane to lane like frenetic squirrels hopped up on meth-amphetamines were driving. You know the type, far left lane until their exit is a hundred yards away, then the mad swerving dash across four lanes of traffic to make the exit.
So. Forty minutes later I clear the congestion of all the cars trying to leave I-495 and get on I-90. Mostly towards Boston. Me, I continue north. (Yup, 40 minutes to go 7 miles. Not exactly "life in the fast lane", neh?)
Eventually I arrive at the FOL. To face another week battling the dark adversaries of all that is beautiful and good. Yup, management.
It's a paycheck.
Now I remember why I get up at oh-dark-thirty to make the trek North. Apparently the idiots to whom the states of Rhode Island and Massachusetts issue driver's licenses don't get up that early. The roads are fairly clear. And safe.
Though for those days when I feel the urge to sleep in, the SdKfz 222 would certainly be "nice to have".