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A few years before I firmly planted myself in East Tennessee, I made a three-day trek, most of it along Interstate 40, to live in Arizona.
It was a grueling trip, not only because of the mileage and move involved, but because of the mix of emotions tied to any cross-country departure.
Except for the excitement of seeing antelope for the first time and listening to the most boring audio book that must have ever been recorded, I remember few details about that late-winter journey.
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