The air was cool and a very light patchy fog drifted around us as we loaded the dogs in the boxes. Uncle "NoPass" Ted decided he would ride with me in my old CJ-5. He clamored up into it despite his 82 years and immediately launched into a story about how he wanted to be a driver in the army, but they decided he made a better point man in a rifle unit in the pacific. Three years, nine months and twenty two days. Thank him and the ones like him on Monday. He spun a few more tales that I really didn’t hear above the hum of the mudders as we rolled down the highway, but that was okay, I had heard them enough to be able to repeat them with him.