We did so many things during our years together both as teenagers and then as soldiers jumping out of planes like it was what we were born to do. At the ripe age of 16, we decided it was time to leave home and we took Bob's motorcycle (actually registered to his dad I believe) and headed across the mountains from Goldsboro to the hills of Kentucky in the middle of the winter. It was so cold, even though we had news papers stuffed under our clothes, we could only go about 10 minutes sometimes before we had to stop and warm up. The roads were icey and snow covered. We went up one hillside and tumbled down with the motorcycle. Bob got a pretty nasty burn on his leg from the exhaust. We eventually made it to our destination in the hills of Kentucky in an old house my family reunited in each year. We had to haul large pieces of coal between us on the bike just to get a little heat in the house. How we didn't end up down some hillside is still beyond me. Living mostly on crackers and catsup, we were awken to the real world and the need for a job and an income in a way we would never forget. The flames burned hot on the homefront. I'm surprised we weren't killed by our own fathers. What an adventure though. I smile as I recall this event. How two people can suffer so much, yet have such a great time and a memory for life, is beyond words. We had so many adventures, living each day as if it was our last and never looking back. I wonder more how we ever made it to 21, much less 61. Rest in Peace my friend, until our next adventure!
