Mom's Memorial Ride 2012, part I On the way... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I awoke a couple hours early to the sound and sight of a thunderstorm. Great, not that I haven't ridden in the rain before, but it makes for a tough start to a long trip. By the time I was ready to go, it had stopped raining, but was still quite cloudy. As I rode south toward Texas, after I had passed through Commanche, Oklahoma, I saw it. To the south and west of me, the rainbow had sliced through the clouds. Now I don't care how you feel about such things. I'm not a scientist or a philosopher or a cleric, but...I do believe that a rainbow is significant. Surely there is something cosmic and encouraging about something that manages to give hope and beauty and a smile to those that witness it's appearance. It seems common, but it has even become a symbol for some that have known nothing but persecution and abuse, simply because of an attitude. It does give hope, and on this morning, when I was beginning a ten day trip, in the midst of all those clouds, it told me I was embarking on a trip that was going to be special. As I continued southward toward the Republic of Texas, I noticed that the clouds were moving away and the sun was making it's daily journey. Drying things off and warming things up. Making the soul swell and become uplifted. Not a bad start after all. One thing about riding a motorcycle. The smells... There are many smells that many never notice. Many never realize exist. Rain, the sweet, heavy smell of rain in the distance. The ride was uneventful for the most part until I noticed the sign that proclaimed, "Lafayette..12 miles". Then the bottom fell out. Now I have ridden my share of thunderstorms, but this one was sudden and fierce. I ended up following the tail lights of the truck in front of me, hoping he didn't have cause to hit the brakes hard for any reason. The next sign I could make out was "Lafayette..4 miles". Then after a let up, it hit again, just as hard but this time with hail. I did manage to get to the underpass for I-10 where I hid until at least the hail stopped. After deciding to move on, I made the exit up onto the bridge and continued on my way. The rain stopped just before I got to the endless bridge that runs between Lafayette and Baton Rouge. The bridge, with the end of the cooling rain, mixed with the sight, sound and once again smell of the bayous was intoxicating. I found myself riding along looking over at the water and wondering, "what would I catch if I dropped a line into the water......right there"! I was instantly feeling the pull of the Gulf coast, what kind of work could I find, where would I want to live. I know I wouldn't be out here fooling around with a boat and fishing gear, getting lost in that maze they call the bayou. Hot, humid beyond belief........beautiful. With more stuff to eat than any other eco-system in the world, I'm sure. Yes, quite a draw. I managed to get to Baton Rouge before the long day, with the storm, had taken all my energy and I knew it was time to rest for the evening. Strange, how walking into a place to eat and hearing THAT style of speech and how much it produces an addendum to the desire to remain in an area. And that only gets worse, from this point on. The next morning, I made it on into Gulfport, to the house I've been to so many times in my youth. It's an old house, containing a great-aunt and uncle, and cousins. Folks that made up a large part of my youth. Great-aunt, great indeed. I've told many over the years, don't you ask Aunt "Penny" to pray for you, for anything, unless you really want it. I have no doubt that she would do just that and I've always known that she had a friend that was closer to her that maybe to many others that would claim that same friend. A wonder of a woman, never knew hardship, to hear her speak. She was a nurse during WW2, just found out she had received an award for donating a certain admirable amount of blood over the course of a lifetime. I know if there WAS a hall of fame for mothers, like the song says, be the first one elected. I also found out recently that my great-uncle is great as well. Part of the greatest generation, I learned that he was part of some secret, hush hush, plan during WW2. Something that took him and some others deep into Germany. Unfortunately, the plan had some discrepancies and he, and others, were held as prisoners of war for a time. While I was discussing that with my cousins, he was sitting over there, not saying anything but watching me as I was talking . I was telling them about the discussing the issue with a friend and it was agreed that these folks in that generation didn't feel their heroism. They simply did as they were told. The man said "get your gun and go over there" and they did it without question, I mean, he was in charge, ya know? At that, he was looking at me and just waved his hand as if waving off a fly and turned back to his paper. To me that was confirmation. That night I slept upstairs in somewhat of a finished attic. My cousin told me, you know where the room is and there is a fan. No air conditioning. That room, without air conditioning, is the reason I sleep better to this day with a fan going. Summer, winter, whenever. It's that sound, I feel that memory. My ceiling fan is never turned off. It's because of that very room. I was asked how I slept, hard to say. I was up for a while with the flood of memories of hot gulf summers. The feeling you get inside from the glut of memories that roll through your head like a hurricane of information. The smells of a youth that spent many of those hot summer nights in that very room. Then comes the sleep that you no longer know. The comforting sleep of a child with no worries other than how to spend tomorrow when you only know the freedom of youth. It was time spent looking at the "old blue goose". The old hand painted blue 1969 Plymouth Belvedere station wagon. The cousin had removed the engine for rebuilding and Uncle Red said he couldn't wait to go cruising the gulf in the ol' blue goose. I can't wait either. Talk about a pull for relocation. As I reluctantly left for the higher ground, I was struck with more reality. I was riding up through the heart of Mississippi and it seemed like the tall pines that bordered this piece of interstate were talking to me. The light morning wind was slightly moving them back and forth and once again, along with the sound, was that fresh scent of an area heavily forested with pine. As I made my way, they seemed to call to me, this is your home. It's time to come home. I could hear my mom in those trees. The night before she passed, we spent 12 hours...arguing. A woman that hadn't eaten in a week and had very little fluid intake and had moved very little, was sitting up in bed. Looking straight at me, carrying on something awful. And it hit me hard. Part of what she said, four years ago was to get back with the family. She loved those folks back in Gulfport. She loved her mom's sister and that family dearly. When I went through that area last year, how was it I drove straight to that house I hadn't seen in forty years? How was it when I saw my great-aunt this year, after being warned that she may not recognize me, she asked where Cathy was? Yes, it's time to reconnect. I couldn't feel that any stronger. When I said that Oklahoma had been so good to and for me, how could I leave now, mom simply stated, "you found your way out there didn't you".