On the way to a small family reunion in the mountains between the east and west divide, my father shared his stories. I rode shotgun. Stage coaches once clipped along this very valley, did I know, my father asked. Any steep inclines or sharp turns were suspect for hidden stage coach robbers. The man who sat next to the driver carried a gun, making him the first target should the stage coach be robbed.
I tell you this and hope you feel the bumps in the road, feel the sway and the heat of the stage coach.
Actually we were traveling in my father’s van to a reunion in which he would represent the last of his generation.