Have you ever noticed that no matter what the condition or locale, when it comes to detecting a station on a portable radio, (sometimes even a car radio), you can be guaranteed to find polka hours and top country music countdowns with ease—to the exclusion of ANY and ALL other stations?

You could be in the hills of Tidioute PA, the desert of Death Valley, the pristine beach region of Maine or, sitting by a fire at a local campground, (just for one freaky example and a strictly hypothetical location, of course), and, invariably, after fiddling with the dial to the point that Carpal Tunnel Syndrome kicks in, suddenly...it happens.

After enduring a ton of ear-drum-splitting-static and oppressive sounds too abundant to describe, for what seems like hours on end, finally, something becomes audible. Unfortunately for you, it happens to be Reba McEntire’s “Fancy,” blasting at full volume, much to the chagrin of any pedestrian within 200 yards of the “Great Amplitude Modulation (AM) Station Location Caper.”

One would think that with all the modern technology in our world, an enthusiastic geek out there would come up with some kind of invention that would make AM sound even just 50% better than it does currently.

Anytime I am out in the wilderness, or am traveling through a different territory in the vehicle, I can be assured of the discovery of a wonderful (?) country station. This is especially true when I’m in no mood for such a “twang” in my life.

Don’t get me wrong, I actually enjoy all those interesting sagas of broken homes, cheating loves, dead dogs, the toe jam blues, and other colorful renditions, as much as the next gal. However, there are times when I prefer old time rock or talk radio, just for two examples.

What is it with these country radio outlets that their signals seem to penetrate the most “out there” areas on the planet? Do the owners pay extra for this privilege? Are the towers of such facilities higher than talk radio towers? I just don’t get it at all.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been glued to a program about politics and current events when, all at once, the signal vanishes and I’m faced with Kenny Rogers or, some nutty show like, “The Square Dancing Hour with Hayseed Henry.”

I can already feel the ground quaking from the stampede of area square dancers charging toward me, (with a grand right and left all the way round, of course), due to that last sentence.

The whole Great AM Station Location Caper is just something goofy that eventually leads to columns, like this one. Aren’t you thrilled to the marrow that you now have the honor of reading about this nonsense?

Back to various things heard once finding a station, with the help of Columbo, mind you. Another type of show that is always so crisp that it’s almost like being there, is a sporting event. Now, this would be ANY type of game, period.

It really drives me to drink because I will finally be mesmerized by some fascinating, enthralling, gripping political rant when, out of the blue, it totally disappears only to be replaced by some wacky high school football game. (I know I’m digging myself deeper here and no, I don’t need that shovel being thrust toward me by the local quarterback, thank you very much.)

This is especially maddening when the station in question claims to be all talk all of the time.

What’s the deal? There are plenty of outlets on which one can hear area, or national, sporting events. Leave my “all talk radio all of the time” alone. That’s false advertising, is it not?

Getting back to actual signals, or the loss of such. I've noticed that any slight movement of said device causes it to absolutely protest and spew forth hideous noises rather than whatever was just airing two seconds before it was bumped a millimeter to the right.

Darned boom boxes oft have minds of their own and, evidently, they have a collective admiration and deep seated love for crooning, banjo plucking and gaping mouthed sports announcers. It's a conspiracy I tell you!

I think I’ve said all I can about this most urgent issue that is plaguing our great land.

If you happen to hear a shrill echo emanating from the vicinity of an area campground any time soon, it could be either one of two things.

It might be that I’ve just found good old Reba, for the thousandth time, or, it might possibly be the delightful words flowing violently from my face as I, once again, unearth Roy Clark rather than Dick Clark’s Top 40. Worse yet, you could be picking up the reverberations from “Polka Nation,” as I twist the dial in vain in search of “Politics Now.”

Until next time, good luck to all who have suffered through the Great AM Station Location Caper.