This day begins as a virtual, bizarre repeat of the one before it, except downsized to Bucyrus scale. Or maybe a parallel universe where you find yourself in Bucyrus instead of a fairly nice casino in another state. Once again I dip out alone, to the much tinier continental breakfast room at our latest hotel…and once again encounter Lynn and Kevin sitting here, nobody else. Only difference is, this time around he’s grousing about the obliteration of his perfectly planned driving route. Because of that detour to Columbus to rescue Erin’s phone - he explains again that the whole point had been to avoid Columbus traffic.

“We didn’t run into any traffic,” I shake my head and tell him with a somewhat baffled shrug. He responds with what I would call the half nod of the unbelieving: sure buddy. Sure you didn’t.

After everyone has time to awaken and get upright on their feet, we begin mobilizing with the day’s big plans. Erin and I borrow the Kia to drive over to Walmart and buy some flowers, for example, and kill additional stray moments elsewhere with what little diversions a town like this has. Her parents are getting showered and dressed and there’s no need to be in any huge hurry.

I’m definitely not the reporter you would send on assignment to wax about the poetic beauty and finer reports of a wedding, though. Like most dudes, I suppose, a lot of this stuff is just lost on me. But as we slowly start trickling into the church and begin mingling in its lobby, for the most part, I do observe that everybody looks great, anyway, some opting for their Sunday best, others (like me) more of a business casual attack. Meanwhile their son Jameson might take home the blue ribbon for style with his adorable little man suit and cowboy hat ensemble.

  Erin & me at Kati’s wedding   Elaine and Tom  

I’ve been marveling at how peaceful and drama-free this road trip with Erin’s family has proven, thus far, with even Kevin’s antics amounting to meaningless comedic relief. Any excursion with most of my relatives would surely wind up way more chaotic (and I’m thinking this before that positively insane Florida foray, a month still in the future) than this. But no family is entirely without drama, a mythical beast we can all only dream existed. And so it is with this one, where in fact Josh’s attendees outnumber Kati’s by a gigantic margin - because she has expected all along that the six of us who drove up from NC would be her only family members to make it.

Much of this is geographic, as these are after all Josh’s old stomping grounds, not hers. Like he’s even got a 91 year old grandma here. And a lot of Kati’s family are scattered to the distant bookends of New York and California. Still, close relatives you might rightfully expect as slam dunks for flying out to such a momentous occasion have said from the outset they’re not coming.

So there is a great deal of controversy surrounding this, though I don’t ask any questions and entirely stay out of it. Except then at the last minute, Kati’s mom decided she was making it, after all - and yet it appears this is an even more controversial turn of events. Those in the know are shocked by her appearance…and I gather that nearly all of them are not exactly pleased about it.

But this too is a minor consideration, nothing to ruin a perfectly fine wedding over. And it is a lovely ceremony. Kati’s dad and Erin’s uncle, Dean, died a few years ago, which means Tom has the honor of giving her away. The preacher here is an interesting old guy who mingles quite a bit before and afterwards, and I like this line he has in his closing comments, where he references this “crooked and depraved generation” and knowing that Josh and Kati will triumph over it. Then they are walking off, strolling up the aisle to an instrumental, string laden version of Bruno Mars’ Just The Way You Are, to cheers, congratulations, and a few weepy eyes.

Elaine is filming most of the ceremony, up to where Jameson and his cousin, in their sharp little suits, trail behind the couple. “I love that kid,” she says with a chuckle, to the camera and whoever else can hear. Then the masses begin standing, spill out to the lobby once more and eventually our respective vehicles.

Once the four of us have returned to the Kia, we turn right instead of left, for this brief, planned detour over to that next bend in the road. After passing it, Elaine turns around so we can park at the opposite shoulder, facing the church, as she and Erin and I get out with the flowers picked up at Walmart earlier. Best we can determine, this was essentially the site of Lyle’s crash. So we place them where the normal but contextually ominous highway sign is planted, snap a picture we can send to Ashlee.

I’m not sure what a gesture like this really accomplishes, other than maybe making us feel better, that we haven’t forgotten someone who’s gone. And I know Ashlee does appreciate it as well. Her sister Lindsay will too, I’m sure, whenver she learns about it. But at the very least there wasn’t any marker here before, which doesn’t seem right, and now there is - however fleeting ours may be. It just felt like the proximity of this wedding was too coincidental to ignore, and we had to do something. Especially as, when Erin and I were up here for that funeral in 2018, we didn’t see any reason to make it out here to the site of this accident.

And now it’s on to more cheerful things. The reception is held at the Bucyrus VFW, where most of us who were not in the ceremony land at the standard round tables assembled in this cozy space. Although it’s not exactly lost on me that a draft beer tap with a Sam Adams Cold Snap handle lurks in the distance, I have to admit it’s this cupcake display that looks particularly alluring to me:

Kevin I notice makes a point of sitting right beside me. Despite seemingly considering me one of these “damn kids” on the surface, I nonetheless feel like I have dealt with his personality type enough to recognize the actual mindset there: eh, this kid’s alright; he’s non-obnoxious enough, says a couple mildly amusing things every now and then, and more importantly, listens to my amazing stories. Also, it certainly helps that I’m one of the few people he knows here.

So we chow our way and converse through this pleasant dinner, soaking up the warm, autumnally decorated atmosphere. The Sam Adams I must admit impresses me, as it tastes really good when cold (not so much when you allow it to warm up to room temperature, or anywhere near it), and in fact I’m surprised by this flavor profile, as I’m pretty sure I’ve had this before and don’t remember it being like this. I will drink one and a half cups of this, total. It will later emerge that this isn’t Cold Snap at all, they only slapped that handle on the tap, and that this is actually Coors Light. Which is making a whole lot more sense to me. Incidentally, Lynn will later tell us that Kevin drank four cups, then was up constantly throughout the night, back at their hotel room, feeling the overwhelming need to pee. Sounds about right.

Action spills out into the parking lot, for some of the adults, and pretty much the entire mob of kids. Josh is out here, along with Erin and me, and his good friend whom everyone refers to as Wild Bill. This guy has also fully embraced Full Of Shit Uncle mode and can’t stop messing around with the kids, to often hilarious effect. I remember the kids were kicking this beanbag around - and this is how I explain it in my notes - but clearly there is more than “kicking” involved, because at some point it lands upon the roof. Which causes Jameson to break out bawling.

Josh for some wild reason lands upon the solution of telling him that a bald eagle swooped down and ate the thing, so it’s gone now, and nothing can be done about this. “Don’t you like bald eagles?” he questions, “they’re the face of America!” But this only causes the kid to cry even harder.

So Wild Bill strolls over to his massive, shiny, nearly monster sized truck, and pulls up to the building. Then climbs onto it, which gives him enough height that he can then clamber upon the roof. Where he pretends to be fighting with said bald eagle, before emerging triumphantly with the beanbag. Cheers abound all across this great land.

Yet the kids soon lose interest in it anyway. The adult males might have their jackass humor, but for younger lads, as I recall all too well, it’s more likely that some twisted shenanigans will hold their attention. In my mind this is a particular strain of demented crap that Ohio boys find interesting, but no, upon further reflection, this was true when we lived in Georgia as well, and really I’m sure it’s the same deal pretty much everywhere.

Anyway, at some point the boys and even I think a couple token girls wander off to get this railroad spike they find along some tracks. This they begin using to chip away at cracks in the VFW parking lot. Erin soon tells them it’s probably not such a hot idea to destroy the VFW parking lot, though, and to knock it off. At which point the troop wanders away, finds some stray asphalt chunks from who knows where, and triumphantly returns with these. They’re using one chunk to smash the railroad spike into another chunk.

A little while later, as darkness has begun settling in and most guests have left, Josh, who had drifted back inside, becomes aware of this railroad spike business himself. Which leads this hysterical yet surreal exchange that I manage to document:

“Benny, do you have a railroad spike?” Josh asks.

“Yes.”

“Well put it back!”

“It’s his belt!” one of the other boys protests (Benny has it stuck through his pant loops).

“It’s not his belt. Put it back.”

At some point, we all learn that Wild Bill, also in from out of town, is staying at the same hotel as us. This leads to a truly awkward exchange, though, as I’m preparing to drive Tom and Elaine back there for the night, in their Kia. Erin’s sticking around to help clean up, and I will return after depositing them. However Wild Bill has this idea about barhopping around this downtown area, and upon learning of our plans, his eyes light up. He asks if I can possibly drive his monster truck to the hotel instead, leave it there, because he would like to just walk to the bars, then maybe take a taxi later. With Elaine maybe driving the short distance to the hotel herself, at which point I can return in the Kia as planned.

Well, this guy seems alright and everything, but I don’t really know him. It’s also kind of presumptuous, I believe, to throw this into the lap of a relative stranger. Yet I really don’t feel comfortable driving some random dude’s massive, pretty much brand new looking truck, I don’t want that responsibility. I make a joke of it, about sucking at handling a vehicle that big, or whatever, but still. He seems agitated by my answer before nodding and driving off himself.

In the end, it’s just Kati and Josh and Erin and me, with an assist from Jameson, cleaning up this VFW. At some point I drive Kati back over to the church to retrieve her own car, and we both return to finish up. Near the conclusion, I manage to smash the absolute hell out of my right shin, while we’re putting the tables away. It’s the first one I attempt, and I’m expecting much more resistance when, with the thing flipped over, I tap one of the leg braces with my foot. Don’t expect it to fall with such speed and force, right into that shin bone.

After saying our goodbyes, Erin and I return to the hotel. Yet it’s still really not that late, she’s kind of bored, and it had been more of a snack-y type dinner than this enormous meal (Kati in fact gave me all the leftover Kalamata olives, because I told her these were my absolute favorite - even though she snickers and says they actually only came from Sam’s Club). Which was many hours ago by now besides. Therefore she suggests we head into Mansfield, to see what kind of late night diner or something might be open.

My shin is throbbing and I really don’t feel like doing so, yet mention neither point in agreeing to drive us. We wind up at the Denny’s in Ontario, at Lex-Springmill and 4th, which let’s just politely declare is clearly well beyond its salad days. The staff is skeletal, and it takes an eternity to get our food, despite only a half-packed status at best. With some youths in the nearest table especially annoying to boot. I’m sitting there with my shin on fire, gritting my teeth through this disaster.

One final mission remains, which is that of securing some Jones Chips. Among the few treasured institutions Mansfield can boast, these babies are still as great as ever, a family owned business that they have resolutely refused to expand into other regions. So we dip into the big and still quite humming gas station, diagonally across from here, where we can’t seem to find any. Enlist the help of a cashier, who doesn’t know, and retrieves the manager. This lady, who is quite baffled herself, tells us they’ve never carried Jones at this gas station, which she too considers extremely odd. So we have to settle for some Mikesell’s or other such nonsense.

Back the hotel, finally, our headlights shine upon the little carport area beside it, where we both start cracking up, not exactly surprised, to see Tom and Wild Bill sitting out here together, puffing on a joint.

Checking out on the gloomy, then rainy morning that follows, Erin and I are nonetheless able to secure a momentous Jones Chips score in the busted up Bucyrus gas station right beside this hotel, as we are leaving. A totally bewildered Tom and Elaine sit in the car as we then emerge carrying basically as many bags and flavors as we could hold in our hands.

Elaine will drive us the entire way home. With no casino pitstop in the cards, we’re able to take a totally different, shorter route, one that entails sticking on Route 23 all the way to Columbus, as we pass and I point out the trailer park where Jill and our kids most recently lived (and Granny still does), before joining us in North Carolina (everyone but Jill’s mom, thank god). Then it’s Route 33 snaking southeast, during which I also point out a graveyard where my Grandma Judy, Grandpa Rich, and Uncle Steve are all buried. Then later still other trailers where my Steve and Grandma both once lived, also visible from the road, in side by side units near Rockbridge.

It’s at Rockbridge that we randomly decide to stop, on an impulse, at this charming old school diner. Our waitress instantly reminds all four of us, bigtime, of my daughter Emma. She’s extremely bubbly and friendly, has the same squeaky voice. I even catch her jogging at one point, and they do this in exactly identical fashion.