The strange things I think about when driving

Or stuck in a traffic jam.  When we went to Milwaukee we visited the Harley Davidson Museum.  It was very nice and both Ev and I enjoyed seeing the history behind the bikes.  On the way home we stopped at "The Cheese Castle", which, as you can imagine, sells cheese.  In Wisconsin, can you believe that?  haha. 

Anyway, our journey home to my mom's took us through Chicago right smack in the middle of rush hour.  Oh.  My.  Goodness.  That totally sucked.  We inched forward at a snails pace, averaging a mile every 20 minutes.  I could have walked faster than we were driving.  Sigh.

On the drive home from mom's yesterday Ev and I were talking about things we saw at the museum.   When the tour guide was talking about the earlier bikes, he mentioned how they used to race on cinder tracks.  That got me to thinking.  I bet my generation is one of the last to remember what cinders are!  I mean, kids are going to know what cinders are from the occasional campfire or the fireplace, but I'm talking about the ones we used to have on our driveway.

When I was young my great grandparents had a cinder driveway.  I don't know if they just used the cinders from the coal burning furnace for it, or if Grandpa brought them from the coal mine where he worked or if there was someone who actually came and dumped a load of cinders for people.  But I do remember they were not fun to walk on barefoot!

The track at the local high school was a cinder track, I also remember.  I didn't run track, but I know how bad it hurt to fall down on cinders!  Ouch!

The driveway was rocked long before I moved away and the high school track is now some high tech composite material.  All for the better, I'm sure. 

But the memories are in my mind.  Faded, sweet, and precious of growing up in a much simpler world.