The smiles are still firmly in place, but we’re beginning to act our ages. Coughs from congested chests rumble through the bus. Privately, a couple of us have bad back pain, we stop for drugs, we snooze between, sometimes during, lectures on the bus. We have been on long-for-me marches, and my knees and back complain of frequent leaps from and into the bus.
We are still a jolly group. Colonel Historian, after his daily puns, turns over the microphone to those who want it. Colonel Jerry reads a moving piece about military spouses, Mark tells funny cop stories about stolen parrots and 80-year-old drivers, Carol about securing a meeting with Indira Gandhi the week before her assassination. We hear jokes about the Keilor-inspired Lutheran Airlines (the first 10 rows bring casseroles, the next, salads), kindergartners reporting on summer vacations, coaching stories.
All the groans were not from pain.
We arrive at Glen Allen, Virginia, where our trip will end Sunday morning. When we arrive at our hotel after a rainy drive, we learn we've been driving through a tornado warning!
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