Rides with Grandpa

Every Friday I drive from Shelbyville, Kentucky back home to Thompson's Station, Tennessee.  Sometimes, I take the entire 2.5 hours to wind down and I ride in total silence: no music, no talk radio, nothing.  Other times I will roll down the windows (in the summer), turn on the radio, and sing along with Elvis for awhile.  But often, I will give my granddad a call and chat.  I don't call him on the drive because it is the only time I have to talk to him.  No, I call him while I am traveling because, while I am traveling on the roads, Grandpa likes to recall the trips he used to take and it brings back good memories for him.  Sure, we talk about other things.  Today we talked about ball bearings going out on a car, the crazy winter weather, my great-grandfather skating several miles on the roads during winter months because the ice was so thick.  We talk about where my granddad ate out this week with his brother, the deer in his back yard, and several other things.  But he will often times ask me where specifically I am on Route 65 South and it will spark a memory for him.  I then get the opportunity to hear a story about one of his many adventures around the country.  I often times learn some fascinating things that are almost hard to believe.  Other times, I hear a story about a vacation or two that I have heard before. Sometimes, I recall the rides I used to take with Grandma and Grandpa when we would get in the car just to take a ride.  I know someday soon I won't be able to make these calls any longer, but for now, I will cherish the long rides home that are made short with my conversations with my Grandpa.