I road 456 miles today. I was like a horse heading for the barn. It was sweet to cross the Utah border, and drive through 
Arches National Park. It almost brought a tear to my eye. As I pulled up into my driveway, my whole family was there. Oh, the sweetness of family. I love them all very much.
Left Amarillo, Texas this morning with the temperature in the 30's, so I adorned myself with my heated clothing (socks, gloves, jacket liner and pant liner), so I kept pretty warm. The temperatures started warming up west of Albuquerque, so I unplugged myself.
At a gas stop I met another biker. It was good to chat with him, since he was the first other biker I had seen for days. This guy was from Russia, and spoke very little English. He had flown to Florida, rented a motorcycle, and was traveling cross-country to California. He seemed as glad to meet me as I was to him. We chatted for a little bit and said our good-byes.
At one point, on a long stretch of highway, I decided to take pictures of the nice truckers. One of them gave me a thumbs-up. (I think)
I ended up in Gallup, New Mexico, for the night. Route 66 runs right through Gallup, so I explored some more route 66 stops.
As I awoke this morning, the weather was beautiful, my body was rested, and I was yearning for a trip down "route 66."
As I followed the infrequent stretches of route 66, my mind thought back to the early 1960's, when my family and 
I were living in Long Beach, California. About once a year we would take trips to Utah to visit relatives.
There was a stretch of two-lane road, between San Bernardino and Barstow, that was part of route 66. 
Ah, those were the days, when the bladder would not last from one town to the next, and mom always carried a can in the car for us kids to "do our duty" in. 
After we were done, she would roll down the passenger-side car window and dispose of the waste.
Well, on one of our trips, my Grandmother Davis was riding in the back seat on the right side. It had been a warm day and all the car windows were down. 
(We didn't have air conditioning back in those days) One of us kids did our duty in the can, and mom threw the waste out her window, which blew right back into the backseat of the car all over Grandmother Davis's face. I think we all laughed for the next 100 miles.
PS. This picture is for Derrell Mangum. "Sorry Derrell, this was as close as I got to Mangum, Oklahoma."
Woke up this morning to fog and drove in it for about 150 miles. It wasn't too soupy, so I felt somewhat safe.
But, before leaving Memphis, I headed down to Graceland to see if Elvis was there. Unfortunately, they said I had just missed him. Seems like my timing hasn't been very good in meeting Elvis.
Speaking of a song, as I was leaving the good state of Tennessee and heading into Arkansas, I couldn't get Elvis's song, "Blue Swede Shoes" out of my head:
Traveling across the state of Arkansas, I was trying to think what it was famous for. All that I could come up with was Bill Clinton...and we know what he was famous for. As to not leave you completely uninformed, I did some research and found several things that Arkansas is famous for:
The World's Championship Duck Calling Contest is held annually in the town of Stuttgart.
Entering into Oklahoma, the state that looks like an Indian, face down in the dirt, seemed to look a lot like Arkansas, yet dryer. Oh no, another song popped into my head and I can't get it out:
OOOOk-lahoma, where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain,
This morning, peeking out my window I was hoping for dryness, but my hopes were dashed--more rain. So I drove in the rain for about two hours, when the rain stopped, the fog rolled in. I finally decided to pull off and wait for the fog to lift.
At my stop I visited with the locals at the roadside store and asked them if they knew the extent of the fog. They looked out the window and said with a deep drawl,
Stopping in Nashville, and wanting to see the places where the country concerts were held, I asked one of the locals where all the playhouses were? He looked at me and said, "You been on the road a long time, huh, and looking for a good time?" I realized that he thought I said cat houses. "No," I said, "I'm a happily married man and am looking for the playhouses where the country singers perform." (By the way, this guy had no teeth, something that seems quite common here)
Any way, I punched in The Grand Ole Opry House into my GPS and found it myself. As a teenager, Elvis Presley performed here. Because his rockabilly music was so out of the norm, after the performance the Opry House Manager told him to go back to his truck-driving career. Elvis swore he'd never go back there again. And the rest is history.
Leaving Nashville, and heading for Memphis, the skies cleared, and some blue started poking through. As I was traveling through the forested state of Tennessee, another song popped into my head:
Born on a mountain top in Tennessee
Well, I finally arrived in Memphis, my stay for the night. Checking into my motel room I asked the clerk if there had been any Elvis sightings. She said, with a drawl, "You just missed him--He stayed here last night and checked out this morning."
This morning I attended church at the Pilot Mountain Ward. As soon as I entered the building, I was greeted by several people welcoming me to church and inquiring about my situation. By the time I had reached my seat in the chapel, I had shook a lot of hands, and received two dinner invitations. These are just good ol' hometown folk.
After the meeting I connected with an elderly sister by the name of Mildred Johnson, whose maiden name was Stone. She grew up in the area and I was able to learn a lot about the Stones and Pilot Mountain. The area surrounding the old Stone Family Cemetery was settled in the early 1800's by my Stone ancestors. Her grandfather owned a lot of that land until he sold it for a golf course.
After church I packed things up, and even though it was still raining, I set out for the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee. About 50 miles into my trip, my motorcycle hydroplaned and started to fishtail. Someone must had been watching over me, because as soon as it started to fishtail, the motorcycle straighten itself out again. Needless to say, I stopped at the next off ramp and changed my breaches. I also gave a prayer of thanksgiving.
Crossing the boarder into Tennessee, I started singing this random song.
Well the first thing you know ol' Jed's a millionaire,
Leaving Orangeburg, SC this morning, I set my GPS for Pilot Mountain, NC, the roots of my Stone line. It was here that my 4th great grandfather, Enoch Stone, owned a plantation and worked it with slaves.
I found this old Stone Family Cemetery, situated in the area of where the old Stone Plantation was probably located. Approaching the cemetery, I had a feeling of reverence, hoping to find the resting place of Enoch Stone.
After trying to read the weathered engravings on several headstones, I found Enoch Stone's headstone, along with his wife Elizabeth, and a son John. Enoch was born in 1791, and died in 1876.
As I surveyed the area surrounding the cemetery, I found several streets that bore the Stone name, as well as some old dwellings that very well could have been part of the Stone plantation.
The town of Mt Airy, has an interesting resemblance to the TV town of Mayberry. As I traveled through the town I obeyed the speed limit, not wanting to be pulled over by Deputy Barney Five.
