How Fabulous Is Fort Carson?

Annual training in late October is always sure to be fabulous.

The steel warehouse-like barracks are a blunt reminder of how simple and austere Army life can be — analogous to how much it cares about my comfort.

As I make my bed, a sergeant major shouts out to anyone, and no one in particular, that they must go to the other barracks and get exactly two sheets and one pillowcase.

He walks over to me offering a smile and a fist bump. The unspoken message is, this misery is hilarious, so it must be fun. I catch myself saying — sarcastically — “can it get any better?”

Just as sarcastically I think, of course it can.

The flight to Fort Carson is fine. One of the most pleasant I have ever had, in fact. Army or otherwise.

On the plane I watch the Raiders compete with the Buccaneers for a quarter then proceed to demonstrate how to get dismantled in the most efficient way possible for a professional sports team.

Blizzard conditions greet us on the tarmac in Colorado. I follow the Soldier in front of me onto another non-descript bus. Was this the same one used in Forrest Gump?

It is cold.

The drive was from one part of post to another. It takes 30 minutes. These Army installations are enormous. We pass dozens of massive housing units that look like they could fit just as easily in downtown Denver.

We arrive in front of a building that looks like it belongs in the outskirts of a town too small and too remote to be considered a suburb of Colorado Springs. In fact, it doesn’t look like a housing unit at all.

The wind whips snow at me as I get off the bus. Inside is relief from the wind, but not much from the cold.

One thing, above almost all else, will make a Soldier happy in situations like this: Electrical outlets. I’ve got two right next to my bunk.

I begin to settle in.

The bedding that we are required to draw isn’t standard. Special arrangements are made because the truck that carries our gear is, well, stranded somewhere along the I-70, maybe near a place called Idaho Springs. We will not get our clothes, nor our sleeping bags until mid-day tomorrow, at the earliest.

Temperature outside is 14. Fahrenheit.

So we laugh. This has to be hilarious.

Our first sergeant organizes a trip to the Wal-Mart in Fountain. It leaves at 1930 hours.

Fifty Soldiers pile back into two busses. These ones are yellow. It feels like a field trip. The Fountain, Colo. Wal-Mart has very few pillows left in stock.

And there is one fewer electric blanket. It is on my bunk, plugged into one of my electrical outlets. I am content.

This is going to be fabulous.