Literally. We were used to riding through a storm all summer long, but we pulled through. Now we were praying for a beautiful Labor Day weekend. We needed it as a family. Just to get away for a few days would be nice. On September 3, we went to bed, not knowing what was coming.
“What’s appendix?” Kenzy asked. The doctor sat with her and explained what was going on. But when he said the word surgery, her eyes got as big as saucers. I held her hand and told her it would be OK. “Piece of cake, baby, you got this,” I assured her. “It will make you feel
School was out, and summer was just beginning. We had a new camper we couldn’t wait to enjoy, a newly built outdoor kitchen pavilion area we had just finished at our river lot, and our two-week vacation at the river was just around the corner. Life was good. No more getting up at 5:45 a.m.
I interrupt your regularly scheduled column writing to fill you in on what the heck happened last week on the 9-11 ride. First off, Kenzy told me a lot of different people were pointing at her and waving. She noticed it a lot, and it’s so funny that I said, “Watch for the pink helmet.”
My eyes felt like it was morning before I even opened them. I wanted to open them, but I also wanted to keep them closed so I couldn’t face the fact that it was almost time to get up. My eyes slowly started to open. With each blink, my eyes started to come into focus.
There is a specific kind of thunder that rolls through the ole’ Susquehanna Valley every September. It isn’t the sound of an approaching storm (we sure had enough of that lately) but rather the collective roar of thousands of motorcycles moving as one. The annual 9/11 Memorial Coalition Motorcycle Ride is a tradition. For bikers,
