We headed west right after lunch, I was letting the GPS guide me. I was doing a little manipulation with the route but for the most part, everything was new and interesting. It did not matter what we saw, it was all good. We retraced part of our route across Alabama, passing through Cullman. I kept trying to remember why this town was supposed to mean something to me. It hit me that this was where some of you talked about getting the best deal on new FJRs. I was not in the market for that, so we kept going.
When we stopped for fuel outside Cullman, Dad was looking at me a little oddly. "We are not far from Tupelo are we? How the hell did you do that?" He was not mad, he was happily surprised. David had caught on that we were going to reach Tupelo that evening one rest stop earlier. I explained to them that I really wanted to make Tupelo and had juggled my routing to make it happen. "Well, let's finish it up then," Dad said. "No sense letting all your planning go to waste."
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We remounted and continued west. The road was excellent but very straight. It passed over some nice hills, through very nice woods, and headed us toward Hamilton Alabama.
A word about Dad. He is 67 but still very strong. He has what we call "Grit" He does not quit, he does not give up. Sometimes this is not a good thing. He has always been my hero, watching your hero grow old is hard. Now, I look after him, our roles have reversed somewhat over the years. He accepts this better than I do. Watching those wide shoulders start to droop with age has not been easy for me.
A few miles before Hamilton, Dad was not as talkative in my headset. I was feeling it a little myself, but I could tell he was no longer riding, he was driving. We found a small gas station and convenience store and pulled in. Dad was not quite as smooth as I thought he should have been and I felt like an ass for pushing him so hard. I went in and found what I was looking for, a coffee pot. I got he and I each a cup and a Payday candy bar for him. As we walked around, Dad revived completely. David was still doing great. He told me off to the side that if Dad was done and we had to stop, he was OK with it. I talked to Dad, he really was fine. When I told him we had about an hour left, he laughed at me. He was ready, we remounted and took off for Tupelo.
We had a fast food hamburger supper in Hamilton, then went directly to the hospital in Tupelo. We were very happy that Byron had been moved from ICU that very day into a regular room. We went up to see him, each of us quietly wondering what we would find. I will just say that even though everyone was happy to see us, it was not a pleasant visit for us. I got the impression that my cousin was laying some of the blame on me. I did not care for this and neither did Dad or David. We figured the pain medicine was messing with his head some. I thought that it also acted as a truth serum. We made the short ride back to the LaQuinta and got our rooms for the night.
While Dad took his shower, I went out to the bikes. I broke out the rag and the Yamaha Spray Detailer and began cleaning the bugs off the snouts of the bikes. What I really needed was Mrs. Redfish to talk with, I settled for rubbing on the motorcycles. This has been therapy for me since I was young, cleaning the motorcycle or the boat soothes my soul.
David found me working on his GoldWing. He was disturbed as well. He started off with, "I hate being nice to you so I am only gonna do this once." The entire conversation would take too long, but let me say that David was the voice of reason I needed. It really should remain private anyway. I felt much better after this.
One thing I will share: "I have been texting pictures of us to my friends back home that come up here to ride. They don't know where the hell we are. They have never seen these waterfalls, they don't know about any of these little side trips you are doing. They come up and ride the same road but they don't have the same trip. If you can do all you did up there in two days, you are definitely taking us back there next year."
We were obligated to stop back at the hospital the next morning. None of us really wanted to go. I know what happened out there on that cold wet road. I know it was not my fault. I hated to think that deep down my cousin secretly blamed me.
Totally different man that morning. Different pain medicine, something. He was the guy I had always remembered, the cousin I cared about so much. We left that morning in a much better mood. We all felt that he was well on his way to recovering. He thanked Dad several times for that full face helmet. He assured us that he would not have survived had he been in the turtle shell he normally wore. We already knew that but it was nice to hear him say it.
We got on the Natchez Trace and rode it down to Jackson MS. We jumped on I-55 and rolled south. I always feel that the Interstate effectively ends my motorcycle vacation. Of course by this time I was missing Mrs. Redfish and Redfish Jr. so bad that it was almost a physical pain in my chest.
At our last stop before David seperated from us, we discussed the whole thing briefly. David was still glowing with happiness over what had truly been a great ride for him. He had learned lots of things about his bike and how to make it work. He had seen some of the finest motorcycle roads and scenery east of the Mississippi River. He was happy that he could stay so close to us when we were playing in the twisties. He was full of praise for the routing, the riding the scenery and the two Sport Touring Bikes he had been following. The mean cold hearted bastard that he is, he gave me a hug before we parted ways. I guess that means I had not failed after all.
The last few miles are almost a blur. All I could focus on was getting home to the wife and son. They were both happy to see me.
I wound up spending $207.00 on picture development at Wal-Mart. The young lady who handed me my pictures said that was the most 5x7s she had ever developed.
I'm done, finally.
