We pulled into the driveway Sunday night. The trip-meter was just shy of 4750 miles. This year we snaked our way through the blue highways of Georgia, rumbled alongside of the Kanawha River in Charleston, West Virginia, motored by miles of Ohio and Illinois corn fields, occasionally raced the four-lane blacktop of our country's interstate system, and enjoyed 68 degree mornings in Wisconsin.
It is that time! Seven days, seven states, 1500 miles of back roads and small towns, 4,500 cars, 75,000 spectators. It all adds up to miles and miles of good times, great people, and special memories.
The place for the ship is in the sea but God help the ship if the sea gets into it. But the remedy is not to remove the ship from the sea, but to make it strong and water-tight.
Sometimes I need a little reminder of what is important in life. Selling Shannan's Impala SS did not rock my world, but the emotional pang from seller's remorse was like hitting a big speed bump. I felt it . . . maybe more than I should have. It is interesting to see what a hold "stuff" can have on my life.
I was a 21-year-old cash-strapped love-smitten boy doing whatever it took to satisfy the heart of a 20-year-old gorgeous girl.
