Family Reunions and things.

Six years ago, I took a motorcycle trip from northern Indiana to southern Illinois on a small 250cc motorcycle. It was a hard tail, and I only took the back roads. I felt every bump those roads had. I was just about a few short months shy of forty then, but it’s amazing how a body changes in a relatively short amount of time. It’s also amazing how much life happens and changes over the same course of time. Fast forward to now, I took another motorcycle trip, but this time, I took my dad’s trike from New Orleans to southern Illinois. Again, this time only using back roads.

Why southern Illinois? Well, it’s a place that still holds magic for me. A place of solace and a place to recharge. That and the best darn homemade buttermilk biscuits and gravy a person can get anywhere, though in the past few years, those homemade buttermilk biscuits have transitioned to Mary B’s biscuits that can be found in the frozen section of most supermarkets. So, now, after all this time, it really wasn’t about the biscuits but the company that came with the breakfast, which was my aunt and uncle. It’s an interesting phenomenon how the company can make food taste better or worse depending on the company.

Also, it’s the time for a family reunion that I like to attend as much as I can. It’s been going on every year for as long as I can remember, though there were a couple of periods of time when the show did not go on, but thankfully, it’s happened more than not. But even as I write this, I know the curtains will close and the show will be over a lot sooner than I’d like.
My mom was the last of thirteen children and surprisingly, I am not the youngest of the 30 something first cousins. That honor goes to someone else.

One day, I plan on writing a heavily fictionalized book that loosely follows a family very similar, but that’s a story for another time and not today.

Today’s story is about my trip. My dad passed away last year, and I bought his trike. It’s been a tough time this past year for various reasons, and I wanted to use the trip to sort of reconnect with my thoughts about him.

Over the years, I have come to the realization that I am a hopeless romantic mixed with a good portion of delusion of grandeur. I love the idea of something more so than the reality and that, coupled with destination disease, leads to interesting decisions. I wouldn’t recommend it but at the same time, I am thankful because I’ve been able to do a lot of interesting things over the time I have had on this earth.

It’s also an interesting concept of how young men try to be like their dad, even when it’s not a good fit. I remember when I was in Afghanistan as a government contractor. Another one of those hopeless romantic decisions that found me in places that surprise me. I bought a 69 mustang because that’s what my dad had. I didn’t know the first thing about old cars or even really how to work on one, but since my dad had one, well, I’m going to have one too. Funny thing happened when I got back from the Stan. My dad sold his mustang! And mine became a garage ornament for over a decade because there was something wrong with the engine and I just didn’t have the knowledge or really the interest in fixing it. Kind of like grabbing a wolf by the ears. Can’t hang on but can’t let go either. I also bought a motorcycle because my dad had one.

It seems that I’ve had this problem for years. I remember my first year in college after I got out of the Marine Corps; I had just enough money to buy a vehicle, and what did I do? I bought a stupid motorcycle that became my only mode of transportation. I learned something that year. Don’t ever buy a motorcycle as your only mode of transportation. It’s kind of miserable on hot days and during storms, not to mention doesn’t go over very well trying to go on a date.
So, again, I when I got back from the Stan, I upgraded my motorcycle to a Harley. I’ve also come to the realization that I am not a biker like my dad and that motorcycle is yet another garage ornament. Yeah, I don’t mind getting my head in the wind every once in a while, but I am not a diehard. To be honest, I am not a diehard anything.

So why did I buy my dad’s trike? I don’t know. It’s another wolf’s ear grab, but it’s been in the garage for a bit, and I made the decision that I am going to take that trike and ride it to southern Illinois.

I’m also the kind of guy that when I make a decision about something, come hell or high water, I am going to follow through on it. I read reports of rain all weekend the weekend of the trip and though I know it’s miserable to ride in the rain, I already made the decision.

I took off on a Friday morning at 5 a.m. and although New Orleans is known for bad traffic and even worse drivers, there’s not that many on the road at that time in the morning. I zipped through the city and headed north over lake Pontchartrain. There were dark clouds all around, but as I crossed that twenty-four-mile bridge, the sun rose to the east, and I saw a couple of holes in the cloud coverage. It reminded me of how we are all on different journeys, but there are certain truths that will always shine behind the cloud cover and every once in a while, we catch a glimpse of that truth.

From Pontchartrain, I drove through Covington and ended up skirting the east Louisiana Mississippi border. There is a very small blip of a town called Angie right before one heads into Mississippi. I have seen this town on the map for a few years now and was always curious about. It seems to be miles from nowhere and yet it exists. Riding through was not a disappointment, though it was very small. It had a nice downtown to it, but unfortunately, most of the buildings were shuttered with plywood in the windows. I could only imagine what it looked like back in its heyday. I had little time to dwell on it because I had places to go and couldn’t stick around.

I ended up stopping in a small town called Foxworth. At this point, I was on the road for a couple of hours and needed to stretch my legs. Now, the thing about my dad’s trike, I’ve come to learn that it’s temperamental. Sometimes, it is really hard to get into neutral and other times, if it’s not in neutral, it won’t start. So, when I was ready to go again, I tried the ignition button and nothing and as much as I tried to get into neutral, it just wasn’t having it. I was beginning to wonder if this would be the trip and I would have to figure out how to get home with a trike that doesn’t want to start. I rocked the strike back and forth and eventually I was able to get it into neutral and only then was I able to start it back up. Then back on the road, I went heading north.

A little while later, I stopped for gas in Mt. Olive, Mississippi. From there, I headed on, but I turned on a podcast and listened to an episode of the Shawn Ryan Show. This particular episode, which was about four hours, was an interview with John Burke, a pastor who documents and studies near-death experiences. I found the conversation to be very thought provoking. I think the thing I found to be most interesting were the reports of perfect understanding and life reviews. In some instances, God gave people the choice of a life review, in others, he didn’t. Also, some experienced a whole life review and others only experienced certain moments. In those life reviews, some claimed they viewed their whole life again, and that time worked very differently on the other side. Also, not only did they re-experience the thoughts and feelings they felt in those moments, but this time, they experienced the thoughts and feelings other people had in those moments. I found this to be intriguing because how awesome would that be to fully understand what someone was going through as they were talking to you or how your actions affected them. We are taught to do unto others as we would have done to ourselves. I think this is true because one day, we will see exactly how closely we followed this. So many times in my life, I can see how miscommunication, or the misreading of a situation, ended badly. Anyway, like I said, it was a thought-provoking topic.

At some point in Mississippi, I ended up on the Natchez Trace Parkway for about 120 or so miles. That was an absolutely beautiful drive. It’s a two-lane road that’s pristine. No traffic lights or stop signs, just straight driving through beautiful country. I had to stop near Tupelo to refill the gas tank before continuing on. The weather had been overcast all day and remained so until I got past Tennessee. I had been fortunate because with all the reports of rain; I had missed most of them so I never got rained on but there were plenty of indication that the storms just came through with wet roads.

Speaking of gas tanks and gas stations. I drove through Tennessee with no problems, but right before I got to the Kentucky state line, I noticed I had less than a quarter of a tank, but I was confident that I would find something. As I traveled, the dashboard lit up and told me I had low gas. Okay, no big deal. I will find the next gas station, except there were none. Now my trike was telling me I had 14 miles left to go before I would start walking and I began to worry. I had been on the road a while and there was nothing and I was in the middle of nowhere. I searched for the nearest gas station, and it was 13 miles away in Sedalia, Kentucky. I barely made it and I’ve never been so thankful to see a hole in the wall gas station.

From there, feeling much better about the gas station, I headed north through Paducah, Kentucky and across the Ohio River over a blue two-lane bridge and I was grateful that I was on a trike instead of a two wheeled motorcycle because the bridge was nothing but grated segments. On a two wheeled motorcycle, at least in my experience, the grooves of the grate kind of throw you around and you have to be careful.

I was finally in Illinois. There is something about the land of southern Illinois that speaks to me. The various shades of green in the trees and the long view of farms across the land offer me a place of solace, and as I’ve said before, a place of magic. I think that’s why most of my books are set there.

After another thirty to forty minutes, I pulled into the front yard of my aunt’s home. I saw another car there and thought little of it, as I just thought that maybe it was a neighbor stopping by. But to be honest, I probably wasn’t thinking clearly. It was almost 6 pm, and I had been on the road for almost thirteen hours.

As soon as I turned off the trike, the front door opened, and my eyes played tricks on me. I couldn’t believe what I saw. It was a figure that looked like my brother stepping onto the front porch, but that couldn’t have been it because he was supposed to be in Arizona. As my mind wrestled with this, I’m sure I had a dumbfounded look on my face. Sure enough, that figure was my brother, and he drove two days to surprise me, which he did. I didn’t suspect a thing, though he thought I had figured it out, but I hadn’t. I had called him the day before and he told me he was driving, but he didn’t let on that he was driving to Illinois.

I have to admit; I was so glad to see him. Not because of just seeing him, but he had his car and after the grueling day I just had, I realized I wouldn’t have to ride everywhere on the trike and that was a relief, of course, it was a minor thought in comparison, but it was there. Something I didn’t realize on a trip like that with a trike versus a motorcycle. On a motorcycle, you put your feet down to balance when you come to a stop, so you get to stretch your legs a little. On a trike, you don’t have to and yes, you can stick your leg out to stretch a little while riding, but it isn’t the same. Being in one sitting position for so long caused my knees and leg muscles to hurt.
I slept wonderfully that evening.

Now, usually, the family reunion is on Sunday afternoon before Memorial Day, but with the weather forecast predicting horrible weather all day, it was moved to Saturday instead. The location of the reunion has changed throughout the years but more times than not, it’s usually hosted by one of my uncles who has a farm and a house that sits near a picturesque small lake. I remember one of the first times we had it out there; I was maybe sixteen, and I had just delved into civil war reenacting the previous year, and I was so excited to show off the new uniform to everyone.

Before we arrived at the reunion, my brother and I decided to drive around southern Illinois a little. I think every time I go, there are a few things I have to do. I have to drive through Stonefort, which incidentally I renamed Stonemill in my book, The Hermit. I have to drive through Marion. And last but not least, I have to drive through Pittsburg, which was the setting for my first novel, Them Bones. I also have to visit the small cemetery near my aunt’s house in Stonefort. Don’t ask me why. It’s hard to pinpoint when tradition starts. Most of you reading this probably have no idea about these locations, but I did a lot of growing up in those small villages/towns. I guess you can say that’s where my foundation really started.

We did a quick drive through Stonefort and then headed to Pittsburg. Now, we weren’t looking for anything, but life sometimes has a way of things to look for you. We were minding our own business, driving slowly in front of the yard that used to house my grandmother’s house in Pittsburg. It’s long gone now and the patch of green grass that remains makes no mention of what was once there. In fact, it’s hard to believe a house of any size once stood on that corner lot.

As we were about to leave, my brother was driving, and we both looked forward to see a middle-aged man without shirt or shoes emerge from a trailer just ahead on the left. He had tattoos covering his upper body. This man comes to the middle of the street and stands in front of our car and advances. He is trying his best to appear intimidating.

Now, my brother is a former marine and wearing a ball cap that pretty much states this. I am a former marine, current law enforcement officer, so I nonchalantly rested my hand on the butt of my sidearm and waited to see what this guy would do. He comes up to the driver’s window and my brother rolls it down. This guy asks, “Are you looking for something?”

We both reply with no emotion, almost deadpan, “no.”

The guy then tries to play the staring game and we just stare back.

The whole time we this process played out, the only thought in my head was… crap, I am going to have to shoot this guy today and it would delay us getting to the reunion.

The man, I think sensing that we didn’t give a flying feces, turned around and walked away, and says as he was moving away, “Better go and find it then.”

Which made no sense. As we drove by, I think I saw a baggy of something in his hand, so I am pretty sure he thought we were there to buy drugs, but the whole thing just made me mad. Here we were trying to reminisce about the innocence of our childhood, only to have it destroyed by this jerk with no shirt on.

We then drove through the rest of Pittsburg, which didn’t take long, but we stopped long enough to admire the stonework of our grandfather and uncle outside the community center before leaving.

We also made a few errands in Marion and then on into the country to catch up with family. Now my uncle with the farm lives out in the country and I mean it. The country. But it’s beautiful and worth the drive.

We arrived and saw the others that showed up. Unfortunately, due to the years and just how things go, we only had maybe forty people show up, but in times past, it wasn’t unheard of to pull close to a hundred people. And honestly, as we all get older and in a few years (hopefully not anytime soon) as the remaining aunts and uncles go to the great beyond, I’m not sure how many more reunions there will be. I’d give anything to have one more big one where everyone makes the effort. Will that happen? I don’t know. My brother and I were discussing this at some point. When we were born into this family, it felt like it could do no wrong, but as we’ve gotten older, we can see where the cracks developed and grow. Just one of those things and at the end of the day, even with those faults or issues, or miscommunications, we are so blessed to be a part of it all and one day, it will be just a memory until that too is gone. It’s sad, those we care about most in life, we will only see a handful of times more, if we only see them once a year.
It was a great time with those that were there and as things happen at these kinds of events; I stuffed myself full of great food. Someone made a concoction of banana cheesecake pudding and that was fantastic, but all of it was fantastic.

Every time I go, I task myself with taking the family photo, which kind of stresses me out. Trying to herd that many people to take a picture when you have kids on the other side of the lake and people eating here and there, I can never really relax until that photo is taken but I am glad that I do because I think one day it’s going to matter. Someone’s grandkid or great grandkid would like to know what we looked like.

Task complete, I could relax. Had some good conversations and then people drifted away one by one, heading home. My brother and I were among the last to leave, along with one of my cousins named Kyle, and thankfully he did because my brother’s battery had died and no jumping would save it. He had been having some problems with it, but now it required a whole new battery. Kyle was gracious enough to cart us around to get a battery and cart us back. Once we dropped the battery in, the car fired right up. We didn’t get back to my aunt’s house near Stonefort till late due to this. Overall, though, it was a good day.

Now, the next day, Sunday. A strong thunderstorm came through in the morning and by noon, the sun was out. My brother and I went for another drive. While we were out, the weather was so nice that it seemed that no other storms should come, kind of like hurricane eyes. It was a calm and beautiful day. We didn’t stay out too long and returned back to the house and by evening; the storms were back, and holy smokes was it a storm. A huge line rolled through and spun up four tornadoes in different areas. We took shelter in a village near Stonefort near my aunt’s husband’s sister’s home. Two of those tornadoes passed nearby, one just to the north and one just to the south. We were very fortunate.

The next day, it was time for my brother and I to make the trek home, but not before an aunt on my dad’s side reached out to see if we had time to meet up and thankfully we did. I honestly don’t know that side of the family all that well, so it was nice to catch up with her, her husband and a step uncle and his wife that I don’t think I’ve ever met before.

On the way home, I stayed on the interstate and cut my travel time down to nine and a half hours instead of twelve or thirteen hours. I think trikes are made for interstate driving and not so much back roads because the trip wasn’t that bad coming back.

It was a good and quick trip. I am glad to be home and sit here as I write this. Did I come to some great understanding about my dad on this trip? No. I am still just as lost on that subject as I was when I began, but I did come to learn how great it is to be intentional in life and let those you care about know that you care.