I've spent a good amount of my life on this road. It's horribly washed out and bumpy, visitors hate to venture the length of it to my former home, bugs guard their territory with bites and stings.
But this road holds much more. As a toddler, it was where I got my first taste of driving on my dad's lap. Then it became a race track when surprised with four-wheelers from Papa. I walked the length of it (and back) in the terrible ice storm that hit our area. My dad and I ventured in the dark with a flashlight, slipping the whole way home. I've walked when I was joyous, and ran when I was angry. I've sped up and down it, sometimes belting out my favorite songs, and other times screaming angry cries. It was a place for my now husband, and I to park when we wanted some privacy to talk or fight or..makeout and stuff. It's funny how many times I catch myself muttering that I hate it, when it has been such a big part of my childhood, in a childhood where constants were rare. Some of my longest rides were the length of those two miles, whether I was going to visit Mama and Papa as a little girl and so excited to arrive, or moving in permanently as teen filled with angst, ready for a new outlook. I still have a certain feeling of security when we venture down it, despite the bumps.